The One Fourteen Years Later
by MrsRJLupin
Summary: Joanna Lucas is alone and working on Thanksgiving, and meets a colleague who is shunning the day of festivities too. Feel free to download the audio from my Youtube Playlist: MrsRJ Lupin (a space between RJ and Lupin).
1. Chapter 1

"No! You know why, Joe!"

The man paced about his office, scowling at the wall of corporate notices as he spoke to his friend.

"If its about the usual Thanksgiving reason, then - "

"No, it's not the usual, it's - " the man raked his long fingers through his hair, " it's_ that_ Thanksgiving". She could be so cruel – why wait until the day that was most filled with unhappiness to add yet more to it by choosing the very same day to announce she was filing for divorce? The thought hung in his mind, despite being distanced by so many years. Yes. She really must have hated him.

"Everyone will have someone," the man continued. "Jack will be with his mother and you; Erica is with Emma in San Francisco with Rachel and Ross. Their Youtube channel is really making a lot of money – who would have thought that would have taken off?"

"Not me," replied his friend, Joey Tribbiani, Broadway actor, coach and mentor nodded his head. "There's plenty of kids doing it now – look at your Jack. Whoever would have thought that a million people would want to watch a boy putting on makeup."

"I would say it was genetic, but of course, he was adopted," sighed the man. His friend had almost convinced him. But, flying to New York on Thanksgiving to celebrate with him would have inevitably have resulted in Joey, in his misplaced desire to bring back, "the old gang" and for the "old gang" to meet up in Central Perk, where Monica would have invariably arrived, successful and high-achieving, claiming full paternity maintenance for the twins regardless of his seeing them or not.

"Are you sure?" came his friend's voice on the line. "It would only take you a few hours to drive over to us."

"No thanks, Joey," he said firmly, clenching his fist and leaning it against the office wall. "But, for what it's worth - " a crash below brought Chandler Bing's mind to the present and the deserted temporary office block, ice cold now as the heating had been turned off for the long weekend holiday. Why he had chosen to work through this Thanksgiving day, heaven only knew. His bank balance knew, of course, and he could file for triple time because losers with no family and foreigners ignorant of the country's traditions would be prepared to work on a public holiday in this semi-deserted corner of North Dakota. And ultimately, he knew it was only him. His plans were to -

\- crash – this time from above...

put on some wall-to-wall 80s music and get his head down on the spreadsheets.

"So, you're not coming? Pheebs and Mike are. The boys are at Mike's parents for the weekend." Joey was still on the line, waiting for Chandler to reply, and then deciding to give it one more try.

"Give her my best," said Chandler, firmly. "Anyway, you're breaking up. I've got plenty of web-design and patch-updates to complete. And other stuff." Like, he thought as he pressed the red "off" button on his mobile, finding out just precisely what that was.

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Thanksgiving, she thought, as she made her way up the unlit staircase, bumping into the stairwell handrails again with her box files. Why do they need to switch the power off? I thought we were saving the country by providing cheap, relatively clean fuel, not to have it switched off at a moments' notice. At least the Pilgrim Fathers were grateful: the natives saved them, and look what they got for their trouble!

As Joanna reached the second floor she finally found the works' canteen, whose windows were high enough above the canopy of fir trees that the day's natural light could illuminate the maps and documents she was working on. And besides – it was triple time. That would go a long way – it would help her family at home, for one thing. For another, it would give her masses of experience that she could only dream of at home, so she could get the promotion in Lancashire. She could finally get her feet on the ground after five years of struggling. Perhaps things could begin to go right for her.

Getting to the canteen she did not notice the large bin to her right as she stepped in. It's aluminium-tinniness reverberating around the empty canteen.

"Bloody hell", she exclaimed aloud, as she unhooked her jumper sleeve from the handle of the door, which would ordinarily have torn it, of course. Lucky that didn't happen – it was the warmest thing she owned, having acquired it on the tour of the imaginatively-named Newtown, sixteen miles away, for a dollar at a thrift store and as it kept her so warm she carefully washed it daily, often reporting to the engineering laboratory with it still damp. It soon warmed up and would be dry by mid-morning.

It was pitiful, she had to admit, but it wasn't forever. Six month's at Caudrilla's take-over headquarters in Newtown, in the Bakken shale fields, North Dakota, and she had already the top-level experience she needed to be manager and co-ordinator of operations at their Southport site. At least there were few protests here – Joanna had seen one "green" protestor once on her bus-ride into Newtown one morning with the other workers. Not the masses of protests on her own country, "frack off" the oft-run amusing headline, as if the newspaper editors could think of nothing else original.

But the question was – did Britain want cheap energy? It was putting all fossil fuels out of business; there was a deep-rooted terror about nuclear and unless the entire archipelago of the British Isles wanted to be chained to Russia after Brexit, with the land covered in wind turbines and solar panels and every coast with tidal barrages and wave turbines, which could never happen, then either people would have to get used to shortages or shale gas was at least a stop gap if they didn't want thousand-pound fuel bills each month.

Rolling out the county maps of the gas and oil fields, the social and geophysical of the Bakken shale from the 50s, Joanna set to work on plotting the potential drilling sites in an already drilled area west of Newtown. Slow and laborious it would be checking and cross-checking she would soon get into a rhythm and the day would pass quickly. And tomorrow, the day everyone in the USA – and Britain too, as of recent years, spent ludicrous amounts of money on sale items for Christmas, she would be able to make more progress before calling home and speaking to them all.

Mum's birthday, of course, she reminded herself, and she could speak to them. Plus, it wouldn't be long until the end of February – the end of January if she chose not to use her overtime money to go home.

Back on it, Joanna told herself firmly. Back onto studying the Eagle Ford site for further corroboration. Likely place for the shale gas industry to move to, the temporary office building, the amenities, the complex where more affluent staff rented apartments – all temporary, unfixed, to go with the nature of the gas and oil fields beneath their feet.

How she longed for stability, for a place that was firm, to finish with her nomadic lifestyle that she had been forced into these last five years.

Another crash next to Jo – the chair knocking over.

"Dammit"

Looking up, she pulled the maps to herself and concentrated again. Westbury – few residences; over dense shale deposits – they had been worked by the end of the 80s, apparently. But not according to the latest geological survey, on which she was basing her proposal. Few legal problems.

She had proposed revisiting the Westbury site before – twice. And it had been dismissed. But she knew, she _knew_ that the next glut of methane would be there, one which would make Continental a fortune. She just needed to think how she would sell it at the next –

"Well, hello." Joanna shot around as she looked across to the door through which she had clumsily stumbled a quarter of an hour ago. A middle-aged man was smiling at her, leaning nonchalantly against the door frame.

"I would say "Happy Thanksgiving"," he continued, "but as you are choosing to spend the day being thankful for triple time, like me, then you're either an embittered compatriot, or else a filthy foreigner." Jo felt her eyes widen. Clearly the man thought he was being funny, and she smiled.

"The second one." Jo glanced down at her maps and moved her head, indicating she had work to do. "Not that filthy – I managed to get in the shower this morning, and it was actually hot for once, as so many people have left for the holiday." She smiled at the man, hoping that he was going to remain friendly, then added, "and I filled in the lone worker book, so in the event of asphyxiation from the hydrogen sulphide, fire, hurricane or fireball explosion someone, at least, can find my body."

From the doorway, the man smiled again, unfolding his arms from his chest the putting them on his hips.

"I didn't: should have. But change of plan, last minute."

"No Thanksgiving for you then?" asked Joanna, getting to the point.

"No ma'am," replied the man. "Triple time was too much of a temptation to leave. Besides, Thanksgiving holidays and I don't mix."

"Well," replied Jo, looking down at her work, hoping he'd get the hint. She wanted to be out of there before it was too dark and too late to feel safe walking back to the trailer park, which served as temporary accommodation for the Continental workers who extracted the oil and gas from the Bakken. Then she looked back up.

"It's not even a day for me – it's just the third Thursday of November. Now, if you will excuse me – " she looked down at her maps. After a moment or two, she could sense the man still standing there. "I don't recall you in engineering?" she added, when he hadn't moved.

"Let me introduce myself." The man crossed over to her, putting out a hand. Oh, don't! thought Joanna, crossly, but made herself smile, anyway.

"Chandler. Bing. Software."

"Oh," replied Jo, a little impressed. Software here meant the guys who programmed the drill-heads to the correct spot in the rock. Like a jeweller working on cleaving a diamond, it was careful work, involved a degree of luck, and could cost the company millions if they got it wrong. Besides, anyone into computing would impress her – BASIC was about Jo's level.

"Do you work with Steve Silverman?"

"He works _for_ me," replied Chandler Bing, leaning against the wall. "Say, would you like some company? I'm running the LIM off a generator – it's pretty gloomy on my floor – you picked a good spot."

"Well, I'd – " Jo was about to say no but, well, actually the guy did seem genuine: a bit of company wouldn't hurt. And besides, banishing him away to the horror of the second floor felt a little bit like kicking a puppy.

"OK, but I do need some quiet. Will your LIM be quiet? I'm trying to triangulate a piece of lower middle near Westbury again, the Lord knows I've tried twice and got the same answer, but I'm still working on it."

"Oh?" Chandler leaned forward, frowning as if to discern something from them himself, before backing off and folding his arms over his green knitted waistcoat.

"No idea," he admitted. "Better let the expert get on with it."

"Hardly," Joanna shook her head. "Maybe I should try to imitate your good accent to get my point across at the next meeting – I have no idea how I'm not getting them to listen. Perhaps if I did it like this…" Jo put on her best Yankee accent, as her colleague frowned.

"Sorry," she said, quickly. He'd clearly been offended.

But instead, Chandler grinned. "I like it. Your English is a little bothersome to follow – it sounds like you've just left the Palace, or something." Joanna shot back her own grin.

"The Palace? No! We all speak like this, more or less. So yes, go and get your computer, Mr. Bing, and perhaps you can send out positive vibes to me as I work out what I should present."

He was walking back to the canteen door before he turned, frowning at her.

"You're in engineering, but you're presenting to the CEO? Old Samuels?" Jo nodded.

"I'm deputy of this project – I'm here on a six-month ideas exchange from Caudrilla, before Continental take us over. Or _merge_, as my company like to put it. Didn't you know? Continental has bought them outright, you see, and as of February next year we will be one and the same. I just want to avoid the inevitable redundancies. When I finally get home I will be area manager, so long as this goes well – " she frowned, shaking her head at the three square miles of North Dakota in front of her.

"I guessed you were English, but I never guessed you were – " Chandler broke off as if something had just occurred to him, " – _the_ English!" he added, staring at her for a second.

"The English?" Jo frowned. Somehow, something in the way he had said that didn't seem right.

"Never mind. I'll be back in five." Chandler pushed the door and Joanna waited to hear footsteps on the aluminium stairs, but instead she heard Chandler Bing, head of Continental's software programme, answer his phone, proclaiming, "No, no! I've already told Joey that I'm not coming down for Thanksgiving."

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"I tried, mum, honest I did." Jack Bing, writer for the New York Times, presenter of his own male beauty Youtube channel and wannabe actor paced around the floor of his great-grandmother's apartment. If he had had a cynical bone in his body the young man may have wondered why it was that his mother had not given up the lease on her grandmother's place, no. 20, from where she and his father had moved out with his sister Erica and him when they had only been a few weeks' old.

As it was, Monica Bing had sublet the place, only for it to have become a refuge when her independent restaurant chain had gone bankrupt, along with thousands of others in the 2008 crash. Another thing which has then crashed was their marriage.

But, along with his sister, Jack had been in cahoots with his mother in trying to bring about his parents' reunion – things had been becoming warmer now that he and Erica had turned sixteen – they had talked on the phone, admittedly about their grades at the end of senior year, they had met up – Mum had managed to recoup some of her business losses and had reinstated a good chunk of it back into a specialist food chain which sat as a pop-up in a large department store, at which, it could be opened and closed at will, to meet with demand.

Of course, some of that money had technically been their father's. While Monica's business had failed in the late 2000s, though losing their house, Chandler had capitalised on technology, revealing a hidden talent in programming and development, especially engineering programming, that Jack suspected even his father didn't know himself that he had.

But, he missed him too, and now that his mother and Joey Tribbiani, his parents' friend and Broadway acting consultant, had tried to arrange for him to visit for Thanksgiving, Jack was feeling disappointed now that he wasn't going to see his dad now, especially as the "two E's" weren't going to be gracing them with their presence.

Never one to miss a business opportunity, and supported by Emma's parents, their Uncle Ross and Aunt Rachel, in Los Angeles, both girls had made their way as beauty influencers amongst the stars, having even appeared in the back drop of a Kardashian show.

That was where the opportunities and money were to be had nowadays, although how long that would last was anyone's guess. Jack filed his copy via email, used social media of himself in makeup, including his own tiny Youtube channel but, like his dad, there was a little bit of mistrust on the longevity and reliability of Youtube careers.

The door opened as Jack threw his keys into the basked onto the counter, having pulled out his mobile phone, ready to sink down into the apartment's old leather sofa, gifted to his mum when a neighbour passed away.

"I can;t believe you, of all people, didn't manage it." His room mate, once room mate of his father closed the door roughly behind him, wagging his finger in disapproval. As he was about to say something to Jack, the aroma of freshly-cooking dinner permeated Joey Tribbiani's nose.

"Nice!" Joey's tone suddenly altered and he nodded approvingly at the thought of the upcoming feast. "Your mom will be pleased." He crossed the floor, flopping down next to Jack. "You must have inherited her skills.

Jack turned his heed in disbelief, though the strength of it was mollified becsuse of the fact well, it was Joey Tribbiani who had asked it.

"I was adopted, remember?"

"Eh?"

"Never mind. I did my best, with Dad." Jack changed the subject, flicking back on his mobile and scrolling through his recent messages. "I mean, it can't have been easy for him – I never thought about it until now - now I'm living on my own - "

"You got me!" Joey slapped him on his arm.

"I mean, not as a child any more," specified Jack, still staring at his phone. "Since they had to sell the house, Dad's always just lived with at his work's place; he's not for a home, not really."

"All the more reason to get him down here, so he cam meet back up with you, and your mom. You said they were getting on well at Ben's wedding last year."

"Yep," nodded Jack. "And I tried. But it's Thanksgiving."

"And?"

"It's Thanksgiving, as I'm sure he would have mentioned when you last phoned."

"Oh, the whole "Thanksgiving" thing."

"But we can do it next weekend – I got him to agree to come down next weekend."

"Nice," nodded Joey, although Jack wasn't entirely sure whether his friend and Broadway acting consultant was referring to the deal he had just struck with his Dad, or the cooking. "And you'll have some news to tell him, of course."

"Why?" Jack put down the phone and looked at Joey, who was giving him a knowing look.

""Oh? Don't you know? Didn't Elaine call?"

"No."

"Oh, then I'll tell you. You know the new "Harry Potter" play is coming to Broadway in the spring?" Jack nodded, mutely.

"Yeah? Well, guess who got you an audition?"

"An audition? You? You got me an audition?" Jack got up, striding over his mentor, eyes wide in anticipation. "Oh, that's brilliant, Uncle Joey!" Jack nearly leapt off the sofa in joy, clapping him on the back.

"Yes, well, see what I do for you," Joey frowned in mild admonishment at his honorary nephew. "And you can't get your father here for one lousy Thanksgiving? Did you offer to pay for the flight from me, like I said?"

Jack nodded. "I did. That wasn't the point."

"Well, what will I tell your mom, then?"

But, before Jack could answer, both of them turned as a key turned in the lock, stopped, realised the door was open and turned the knob.

"What will you tell me? Joey?" She looked between her son and her friend. "What was it you wanted me over so early for?"

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"Do you mind "The Cure"?" Chandler Bing, who had been working quite quietly, at the other side of the canteen, save the endless 80s music, had been alright. Joanna had contemplated leaving in search of somewhere alone, shortly after the man had, maybe working in her caravan, or something. She vaguely recognised him, although he reraly could have been anybody. But, over the last few hours he had done nothing but actually work, with wall-to-wall 1980s emanating from his computer.

"No, not at all." Got to be better than "Duran Duran" again. She looked back at her maps, and again at the notepad beside her. There was no mistake – the most statistically probable pockets of shale gas were to the north west of Westbury; the residents could be bought with a promissory of dividends, and the quantity, assuming the geologists' measurements were correct – and she had never ever seen an error, no matter how far back in Continental's records she'd looked – would seal the company's yearly profit.

But – how to put this across? She had tried before, but on both occasions had not been allowed time to speak. The first, Joanna had assumed her colleagues and superiors had read her apart. When it had turned out that they had nor, she had raised it at the monthly department summary. So, how was she going to handle it this time? Maybe the Yankee accent should come out after all.

"Y'all reahd mah repahrt," Joanna said, quietly to herself, in a mock Southern accent.

"I'm sorry, what?" Chandler's head appeared from over the top of his laptop screen. "Do you want me to turn this down?"

"No, that's fine," Joanna replied, feeling herself blush in the dullness, ducking her head back down. But Chandler Bing did not duck his head back down behind his screen. Instead, he stood up, and then walked over to her.

"What do you say we break for lunch I know I've got tons done. Looks like you were hard at it, too."

"No, thanks," Joanna replied, looking back at her work. "I've still got too much to do." Besides, she hadn't planned on lunch, just an early tea, call home, and early to bed. "Plus, she hadn't anything with her anyway; payday was still a week away, and the canteen which supplied lunch with the job every day was obviously closed.

"Ah, c'mon," Chandler said, leaning by her table. "You can't work all this time without a break. And, you've surely got all of that done by now? The results of the geophys are always right: I should know, I program the drills."

"Well, OK. But I'd forgotten the canteen would be closed today," she lied, "and I didn't bring anything. I thought I would work through and go to the caravan early."

"You can't go hungry," declared Chandler, hopping back to his makeshift desk, pulling out a paper package, then offering it our t her. "I made double. Cheese and ham."

"Maybe just half," conceded Joanna. "If you're sure."

"Not only am I sure," continued Chandler, leaving the packet by her, "but we can really push the boat out with - " stepping over to the water cooler, he poured out two plastic cupfuls of water, offering her one, "Continental's best, house white - " he mock-sniffed at one, " - vintage: yesterday." He took a sip, "hmm, fresh. An earthy, sulphurous undertone. Dissolved minerals." Joanna smiled.

"Some of them even a by-product of our own waste management processing system," laughed Joanna, taking the other.

"Think of it as "body," nodded Chandler, "it'll take your mind off the potential of mercury, arsenic and cadmium lingering in there." Joanna smiled again, taking s sip. Yes, it was indeed – water, slightly sulphurous, many heavy metals. The rumours were entirely true, she knew, despite how eagerly Continental tried to suppress any news reporting which might be disadvantageous to their image.

It wouldn't be like that in England – land was not owned like it was in America – people didn't own their land outright border to border – the council and local landowners owned, by default, anything not on a person's land registry record was crown land. So, to frack under a town, a myriad contracts had to be drawn up, and all had to be in agreement with one another, despite being different types of ownership, and therefore covered by different statutes in law.

And, even if Caudrilla overcame all of those issues, things would not be as simple as here. She should be lucky, Joanna knew, to be made to force her case here, for, in Lancashire, where next year the next expansion of drilling was to begin, all kinds of legal barriers would have to be overcome entirely stemming fro land ownership, even if she went into the presentation covered in oil and natural gas. Jo laughed at herself as she thought of the worries she had put herself through since she had arrived.

"What?" Chandler was staring at her.

"I was just thinking about something," Joanna said, cautiously. "Makes my propblems with the drill pitch seem like nothing."

"What problems do you have with your pitch?" Chandler proffered the sandwich pack again. Reluctantly, but gratefully, Joanna took another half.

"Just – my usual. Lack of forthrightedness, if that's even a word."

"Well it is now," Chandler nodded. "The ability to be as forthrighted as the Forthright Saga - " Joanna smiled, but said nothing. "And, you've never met my friend, Phoebe," Chandler added. "She just about fine-tuned by ability to be surprised at any word."

"So," Chandler continued, trying to fill the awkward silence since the conversation had died out, "why don't you try it out on me? You'll find I'm very strict, and would only let your pitch pass if you really do a good job."

Joanna sighed. While it sounded like a good idea, she hardly knew this man, even though he seemed nice, and somewhat of a joker, and he made her smile. It had been some time since she had done that.

"Okay," she said, slowly, "but not now. This filthy foreigner who is ignorant of this country needs some time to just put it together."

"Hey, I'm sorry," said Chandler, at once. "I thought you were a compatriot hating this holiday, like me." He smiled.

"It's fine," said Jo, dismissively. She'd been called worse. "Shall we say, in an hour?" Chandler nodded, and straightened up.

"OK. This board accepts your proposal, and will hear from Miss..."

"...Joanna Lucas..."

"Joanna Lucas, at fourteen-hundred hours." Her phone vibrated in her pocket and she pulled it out. Her sister's number flashed up.

"Fourteen-thirty hours," corrected Chandler, nodding to her mobile. Joanna nodded as she for up, her ponytail bobbing as she stepped outside the canteen to take her call. Chandler smiled, pleased he had some company today, when he had anticipated alone-ness punctuated by the predictable phone calls he had already received requesting his immediate presence and company. At least this was something to be grateful for.

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"And you're saying, it's not "Harry Potter", but a play called, "The Cursed Child?"

"Yes, mom," Jack Bing stabbed at a carrot as he looked at his dinner, for which he was supposed to be thankful. "It is "Harry Potter"; the author wrote a sequel. It's about Lord Voldemort's daughter."

"And you're trying out for "Harry Potter." If it's a sequel, aren't they all grown up? Aren't you too young?"

Jack knew it would come to this but, even knowing it didn't take away the intense pushiness of his mom, who would back away once he had told her, only to hove right back in and kill it with a word.

"His son is eighteen," Jack continued, knowing there was no easy way. Best to just get it over with. "I'm his son's friend, who doesn't make it onto Platform nine and three-quarters and then forgets he has a friend called Albus Severus Potter."

There it was: the silence. Well, almost silence. Joey was scraping his plate with the last of the turkey on his fork, his eyes drifting to the half-stripped turkey still left on the table. With his fork he managed to convey a wordless request. Jack nodded.

"It's a speaking part, mom," said Jack. "If I get it, I'll be seen by so many people, and big influential writers and managers will be there – this play is famous. Talent spotters, agents will be there, and it's not just the actors in big roles either." He turned to his roommate. "Tell her, Uncle Joey."

"You're doin' great," Joey nodded, putting another piece of turkey diplomatically into his mouth. Jack turned back to his mother, falling silent.

"Well," began she, with all the positivity she could manage. "You haven't got it yet." A weighty silence followed, and then Monica asked her ex-husband's son about her ex-husband. "I thought you said your Dad was coming?"

"Couldn't convince him to," Jack replied quickly, glaring at Joey, who had his head bowed over his plate, munching on turkey meat. "Neither of us could. But he said he'd come next weekend."

"He did?" Jack heard his mother's tone soften and brighten.

"Yes," Jack nodded. "Perhaps we can get the E's to fly over for some of it. He'd like that."

"I'll ask them," said Monica, quickly. "I'll call Rachel. Now," she said, looking across to the oven, "I hope my wonderful son made pumpkin pie for his first Thanksgiving?" Jack nodded. "Your culinary skills are defnintely improving," she added, stroking Jack's shoulder. He smiled as his mom got up to get it.

"See, I told you," said Joey, pouring the last of the gravy onto his plate. "You get all your skills from your mother."

88888888

"Well, Miss Lucas," Chandler Bing was sitting at the table at which he had been typing, laptop screen down, music off. "I have heard your proposal. It would seem that your facts are correct – we concur." He nodded around at his imaginary board. Jo was too nervous to smile along. "However, we need to ask you to clarify your feelings on this matter."

"Excuse me?"

"You said your feelings lead you to believe that there is a high quantity of oil and gas in the lower shale level, B2, beneath Westbury. I can't sell this to the mayor based on your feelings."

"Er," began Joanna, floundering for words. "That is to say, by looking at the evidence, overlaying the geological topography diagrams, overlaying the geological strata, which is corroborated, both carried out independently, as you can see from the "Executive Statement." Jo pushed her hair back from her face, as Chandler nodded encouragingly. "I conclude that, to a high degree of certainty, several hundred million tonnes of gas is within the permeable rock layer." She smiled. That sounded alright, actually. She could work with this.

"Well, we will need some time to consider your well-delivered, well-researched proposal," pretended Chandler, still role-playing. "A minute, although," he added, as a faux-aside, "the real board may take longer." Joanna nodded in mock-seriousness.

"And then, when Jo thought that the systems manager of Continental would continue playing, he stood up, smiling.

"I think you have it, Joanna Lucas. And, if I may advise you, I've worked here for more years than I care to admit – call the board for this, don't wait for "any other business" at the end-of-the-month meeting. You will find that you will make your point while the ears of the board are on nothing else and Bob will be more receptive You've nailed it."

"Thanks," nodded Jo, trying to sound casual as she felt her pulse quicken at the prospect of a board meeting. Call the board? Her? Having been rejected, twice? It was sound advice - it made sense – but...

"It's good," reiterated Chandler beginning to dismantle his computer. "And, you won't have to try that God-awful accent that makes you think you sound like one of us." Jo felt her mouth begin to smile, then open in horror.

"I'm so sorry! Did I offend you?" She put her hand to her mouth. "I had no intention of - "

"Look, relax...no," Chandler stopped mid- de-cord, and put his hands on his hips, "of course not. It was rather funny, actually. Made me thankful to have someone around when I thought the day was gonna be so boring, English."

Jo smiled, and then turned back to her maps, sitting down.

"You're not staying?! It's past three on a winter's night in North Dakota." Chandler was continuing to pack up his computer equipment.

"Well, I was," Joanna concede. "But, I suppose, if I "nailed it", as you said," then I needn't stay long. As long as you vouch for the fact that I stayed 'til five. I need the money."

"Alright," nodded Chandler. "And, you'll do the same for me too, right?"

"Yes, of course," nodded Jo. She dolded up the maps and, in her case, put the notes she'd made and the local map of Westbury. Finally, Chandler turned off the generator and the light went out. He was right, it really was dark. She wouldn't have been able to stay 'til five; she'd never have seen her way out of the canteen and would probably have broken her neck down the stairs.

"Careful," Chandler warned as she banged into the bin again, with her bag. "You don't want two broken legs for Bob Samuels." He held open the door in the gloom and Jo stepped through.

"Thanks," she said, following him down, pausing at the second floor as Chandler dropped off the computer equipment before they both descended the stairs again to the lobby.

"I make that 5pm, Miss Lucas," declared Chandler, using his mobile phone to illuminate the lone worker record.

"I concur, Mr. Bing," nodded Joanna. As they approached the door, Chandler pushed it open, holding it, when she stepped left, towards the Newtown, where the temporary caravan city – Murder Town.

Chandler put his hand on her shoulder, and asked, "you're the deputy engineer?" he asked.

"Yes."

"I thought you were kidding about staying at the trailer park,

"They're cheap. More money for my family."

Well, you're not walking there on your own; there's no bus," Chandler declared, allowing the automatically-locking door to close behind them.

"I can walk, it's fine, honest."

"The board of directors overrule you, there, Miss Lucas. And besides, it would make me feel better." In the darkness, Joanna smiled.

"C'mon, I'll give you a ride."

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Chaos City was living up to it's name. Already, gangs of men, would have ordinarily clocking off in an hour or so's time, were milling around, the front of the seven-eleven, bottles of alcohol in hand, jeering and leering as others of their ilk came to join them. It was usual. But she usually got in by nightfall, and up 'til now Jo had never before registered the risk.

"Just here," she told Chandler, pointing towards a row of static caravans which led out into the open wasteland, the topsoil of the Bakken. "Doesn't look like the Millers are back yet, although Mrs. Miller did say something about a long weekend in Chicago. Thanks," Jo turned her head to Chandler who was now surveying the place that was called Caravan City to those being polite and Murder Town, Murderville and Hooker Heaven to those who were not. Jo pulled on the handle of the Ford. Within seconds, Chandler was on the other side, holding it open.

"Joanna, listen. I'm at the company complex. I'd be really rather more comfortable if you were to come back with me, and lets see if I can bribe the janitor to let you stay in the relatives' room?" A jeer went up from the down-tooled workers as a group of young girls wandered nearby.

"Just, go and get some things you might need; works payin' us tomorrow anyway and I can give you a ride back in the daylight?" Jo thought for a moment, taking in her colleague's face, crinkling with concern as a truck laden with more young men arrived, flashing the truck lights and honking the horn.

"Please?"

"Alright. But, are you sure? Isn't it more holiday tomorrow?"

"Of course," Chandler said, his voice one of worry. "It's a ten mile walk otherwise, for you." He held the door open purposefully then closed it, ushering Jo to where Jo was leading. He waited as she opened the caravan door, watched her put down her work things and then grabbing a bag which she filled with some clothes from a washing basket.

Securing the door, to a crescendo of further cars and trucks announcing their arrival, she turned to Chandler Bing, a man who she had never met before that day, and said, "Thank you,"

"Don't mention it. Do you think I want your rape and murder on my conscience?" Before she could scoff as his fear, she saw his face and thought better of it, getting into the car, throwing her bag into the back.

"Well, whyever it is you don't like Thanksgiving, may I wish you a Happy Third Thursday of November, Chandler?"

From the driving seat, the man turned to glance at her for a moment, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. He stamped on the gas pedal as if he hated it. Steering past the boiling crowds of Caravan citizens Chandler replied, "Same to you, English, same to you."


	2. Chapter 2

"Joanna! Jo! Hi!"

From across the first floor corridor Jo smiled, though her mind was still within the boardroom that she had just left. Staring at the now-closed, wood-panelled door, then back at Chandler, who was calling her, she folded her arms and smiled again.

"So," he said, walking to her, and nodding his head towards the boardroom door. "How did it go?" Jo didn't say anything for a moment. She smiled again, and began to walk down the corridor whence Chandler had come.

"OK, I think," she said eventually, swallowing down the last of her nerves. "I did what I practised with you; I got my point across. The board of directors asked me what I believe are pertinent questions. I was thanked for my time to propose such an interesting idea supported by an array of evidence."

It was Tuesday, five days after Chandler, as good as his word, had driven her back to Mitchell, home of the caravans and other ephemeral humanity. She had been grateful that he had, and grateful too that he hadn't pressed the point that, as deputy project manager she had chosen to live there. It was tough, though, considering the apartment that she had stayed in – even a basic one like that was infinitely better than the caravan, which swayed in high winds and through whose walls she could hear the Thompson family next door, through their wall.

"So, they said they'd get back to you?" Chandler pressed, as Joanna felt herself sagging. She looked up to him, and nodded. Then, she added, "I'm sorry, Chandler. I've been up most of the night trying to perfect this - " the incessant car, truck and bike din not helping, she thought to herself, " - and I'm a little tired."

She saw him nodding, and she guessed he was thinking about Mitchell, and the night-gangs, the broken glass, burned out car and the charred remainder of an oil drum, and blushed. If things had been different...if she were making more money by moving, not less, then she might have taken up Chandler's idea of looking into the free apartment down the hall for the two months that she had left. "I have a family to support," she'd said, when he'd mentioned it to her. "It's complicated."

"I'm just having a break, would you like a coffee?" Jo looked surprised. Last week she barely knew this guy; maybe their paths might have crossed professionally, once in a while.

"Oh, well, I would - " she began, then stopped, as she noticed another man standing a little way back. She knew him. Steve Silverman, who she knew from their first day of induction at Continental, and who she knew worked in computing. He tilted his head to one side as another computing colleague appeared. "Anyway, I did all I could – let's just hope that's enough. I'm due back down at engineering."

"Alright," said Chandler, stepping to one side as the nervous Jo smiled at him again. "But, do you promise me that we can meet for coffee sometime?"

"Yes," she looked past him for a second, then back to Chandler. "Yes, that would be lovely. Thank you for asking about today, you're, well - "

"Yes?"

"One of the good guys, Chandler. Bye." And with that, a very tired and emotional Jo Lucas stepped past him, pushing open the stairwell door, her feet making a tinny noise on each step.

Chandler turned to go, and was met face-to-face with Steve and also Andrew Waterman, a good friend.

"Was that the English?" exclaimed Andrew, grinning widely, chuckling to himself and then, turning, to Steve.

"Wow, you were close enough to see whether she was actually sewn into those underpants of hers, there."

"Ah – ha," Chandler said, vaguely. It was "the guys", "the guys" he always joked with. At first, it had been Andrew, who had got the job as systems analyst shortly after him, in the January of 2009; their joking was legendary, and very few topics were off limits. Steve had joined in the September of this year; Chandler had recommended Steve as they had worked together on the drill at the Barnet shale, in Louisiana. It had taken him about a week to fit right in with the two of them and each of them helped the other two through difficult days. Like him, Steve was divorced, and Chandler could at least take solace in the fact there was someone similar to him who he could work with, who would understand him.

Mainly, though, their jokes and banter were about other people. Once Steve had mentioned that there had been an English woman on his induction day that it had all began. It had been Andrew who had first commented about "The English" as they were so apt to call her, building on the joke that she was so uptight she was a prude as she never went out with anybody. It had been various takes on that theme that had taken them through the last three months, but it had only been the previous Thursday when he had met, "The English", of course, and now Chandler was beginning to regret so fervent teasing of someone he hadn't even known.

"What were you talking to her about, anyway, man?" asked Steve, clapping him on the shoulder.

"I should feel sorry for her, if I were you," said Andrew, looming closer. "They say, there's going to be redundancies before the start of the holidays," he added.

"They? You mean Michelle?" It was a well-known secret that Andrew Waterman and Michelle Smith, Bob Samuels' PA were sleeping with one another.

"Keep it down, man," rebuked Andrew, waving his hand as if it would remove the words Chandler had just spoken from the air. "But yeah," he continued, sotto voce. "Michelle. There's a list she typed out," he continued, looking around, "and it had a lot of names on it."

"Who?" asked Steve, quickly, his eyebrows creasing into a frown.

"Not us," said Andrew, with certainty. "Engineering is taking a hit, and we know the "first in, first out," rule," he added, tapping the side of his nose.

"So you don't know for certain," Chandler concluded, as he looked back to the still-closed boardroom door. "Anyway," he added, changing the subject, whoever it is will not be having the best Christmas, come December 25th. Come on," he continued, walking back along the corridor, to the right, stepping right between his friends and back towards their office. It would be a real pity for Joanna, as she was so convinced of the evidence of millions of tonnes of shale gas at the already explored eastern edge, with a family who relied on her.

But then, he thought as he sat down in front of his screen, which still showed his updates, all their families relied on them; whoever was going to be fired, he was sorry; everyone had families who relied on Continental, even his. At least, if he put in some decent overtime this week – and forgot about Joanna and her problems - he would be able to make good on his promise to Joey and be back in the city at the weekend.

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A knock on the door of his office just after six p.m. on Friday made Chandler look up. None of his associates knocked – he ran an informal office – and, glaring at the code he was trying to finish, pushed the "off" button on the small, DAB radio next to the server. If it was "Hardly-Able-To-Make-It" Howard, of whom they all wondered how it was had got a job in IT in the first place, Chandler was sure he was going to do him over. He was more than a little surprised when Joanna Lucas was on the other side of it, smiling nervously.

"Chandler," she began. "I'm sorry to disturb you." She looked around at the empty office, and smiled again.

"No problem," Chandler said, holding the door wider. "Come in. I was just finishing up here – well I would be if this damned server wasn't so slow - " he turned to look at the machine. If it had been alive then Chandler's look would have killed it. "How can I help?"

"No, no," she protested. "No help," she stepped in as Chandler closed the door behind her. "Chandler, I got it!" Jo grinned, her eyes sparkling with delight. "They listened! I'm to begin work on it right away – I get to choose two engineers to help me."

"You did? You are?" Chandler couldn't help smiling back. "This is great news, English," he said, his smile forming a grin to mirror hers. "See," he continued, nudging her arm with his, "I knew you would be able to do it."

"Marc Almond, right?" Jo said, pointing at the radio. 1984 this time, she guessed.

"Mm-hm," nodded Chandler, approaching his desk. He looked at the code, which seemed to be doing what he needed it to do, then stood back up. "Jo," he continued, when she hadn't said anything, "I've gotta go to New York tomorrow. I mean, when I say gotta, my friend, and my son, have invited me in exchange for missing, well, the Third Thursday of November. Would you like to come back to the complex and have a drink with me? I can drive you back straight after, _tonight_," he emphasised. "My flight leaves early tomorrow, and I don't want to miss it."

"A drink?" A drink! Exclaimed Jo's mind, as her mouth calmly said the words. "One won't hurt. Yes, I'd like that. I'm buying, though."

"Over my dead body," replied Chandler. "I asked you, English," he clarified, "so I'll be doing the buying. No buying, no one drink, no hurt," he added, a potential joke getting a little mangled.

"OK!" laughed Jo, smiling at the man, who just over a week ago was a name on the telephone list to her. "But only one. And I'm cheap – I don't drink."

As they got into his car, Chandler helped her put her work bag into the back. "Got a dead body in here?" he asked, picking it up.

"Just work," she replied. "I could have done that, if it was too much for you. I'm used to it," she added, unable to see Chandler's face. "I find it easier to get a lot done over the weekend."

"You work your weekends?" he asked, getting in beside her.

"Not much else to do when you're alone in a foreign country," she replied, smiling weakly. "But at least it's paying off. If I don't go home at Christmas I should be able to shave off the last three weeks of February."

"But, don't you got kids?" Chandler asked, putting the car into reverse, and pulling out of his parking space.

"Yeah, yes I do," Joanna replied. "But, it's this and getting a good future for them, or giving in and them having a mum wishing all of the holidays away while she tries to work, when I should be having fun with them. There'll be other Christmases. And besides, I'm head and shoulders above any competitors for the area manager job at Southport – this proposal, should it be successful, will only add to my chances, and then I will be able to move with them, and give them a good life. Now, tell me about your son. You say you're going to see him and your friend this weekend?"

"Mm-huh," Chandler nodded.

"What's he like?"

"I have two, a boy and a girl. Adopted. Grown up now."

"Do they look like you? Or their mum?" And then, a second or so later, Jo laughed when she realised what she'd said.

"That's a real "Joey" line," replied Chandler, laughing too. "Joey's my friend who I'm going to see. I've always said it was a good job he was a great actor or he would never have made it. Yeah," he continued, as he pulled off from the plant's road to the highway, turning left rather than right, as Jo's bus did, "they both look like their mom; she was only a kid when she had them and put them up for adoption."

"They were lucky to have you, if they've turned out well." The clumsiness of the sentence dawned on her, and she tried again. "What I mean is, I assume they've turned out well, and welll turned out children reflect a good upbringing."

"I know what you mean," Chandler chuckled. "We tried our best; even when my wife and I divorced. I made sure I found the time to see them, even when my job took me further and further away from the city. We were there when she gave birth."

"Wow," said Joanna, in the darkness – the road had run out of streetlights and the highway was lit only by the car's headlights. "I wish I could say the same."

"You weren't there at the birth of your kids?"

"General anaesthetic. Emergency, both times. I can honestly say that I went to sleep pregnant and woke up with a baby in my arms." The questions that were forming in Chandler's mind he forced to remain in his mind, and he changed the subject. "What do they do?"

"My son's a writer and actor. My daughter's making a ton of money from Youtube as a beauty influencer, with her cousin."

"There's money to be made there, that's for sure," agreed Joanna, hoping she sounded polite.

"Oh, sure, for now. Remember the "dot-com" millionnaires? How many of them are still around, I wonder? Oh, there's jobs in tech, I'll give you that, but making a million out of website addresses came and went in a heartbeat. But she's living with her uncle and aunt, and her cousin, of course, and she has a sensible enough head on her shoulders to move on and make it again once the whole Youtube phenomenon passes, and is overtaken by another one.

They rode the rest of the journey in silence, after a few minutes of which Chandler had asked whether she minded he put in "Classic" on the radio. It wasn't the "classic" Jo had been expecting; instead of the likes of Beethoven and Vivaldi, it was more like the classics of Led Zeppelin and Bon Jovi.

Once they got to the complex, whose existence could be seen, beaming out into the darkness of Newtown before they had even got nearly close, Jo's mobile vibrated in her pocket. Chandler had just pulled into a parking space when Jo opened the door, apologising, and taking the rest of the call standing outside, with her back to the closed car door. Chandler sat there, waiting. She clearly wanted some privacy, or she would have been happy to talk in the car, he figured.

He didn't have to wait long, however, and Jo went to get her bag from the back, just as Chandler realised she wasn't speaking any more, and beating him.

"Sorry, sorry!" declared Joanna, pushing strands of hair behind her ears. "Bob has asked to see me first thing Monday!"

"And?" It was all that Chandler could think to say.

"They are pushing ahead with my proposal as a matter of priority. Business decisions have brought this forward!" In the lights of the complex's car-park, Chandler could see her face glowing, her eyes bright.

"We did it, Chandler!" she added, grabbing his arms.

"_You _did it," he corrected her, trying not to dwell on the "business decisions" bit. "I may have guided you a but, but it wasn't me in that room the other day."

"I'm to get a bonus, in lieu of test fractures," she added, her voice dropping to graveness.

"Yes?" Jo did not respond to his prompt, however, only continued of nibble her lip.

"It's complicated, my family life," she conceded. "My money for last Thursday can either get me home to see...everyone...when we have shut-down. But if I stay, I'll be able to save that money and finish up here sooner."

Chandler said nothing. It wasn't for him to repeat the rumour that his friend Andrew had told him. It was a rumour, after all, nothing more. And nothing would be gained by telling Joanna.

"C'mon," he encouraged, taking a few steps towards the nearest door. "What'll you have to drink?"

"Coke?" suggested Jo, rubbing her arms in the biting wind, as she followed Chandler through the door and along a red velvet wall-to-wall carpet to the bar. "Or pepsi. I'm sure I can get high on the caffeine."

Chandler smiled as they walked past the room she recognised as the guest room that she had stayed in on Thanksgiving night. It was supposed to be for families of those renting apartments to stay in if they were visiting. Somehow, Chandler had convinced the janitor that she was a cousin arrived late to see him on Thanksgiving and needed the room, especially as the building had been practically deserted that night.

Unlike tonight, which was looking to become as busy a Friday night as anywhere, especially when Chandler held the door for her – Jo felt decidedly underdressed in her suit-trousers and ribbed jersey - no jacket, and thick-soled boots that she needed in the engineering building.

"Here," Chandler said, pulling out a chair at one of the tables for her. Jo tried not to say something silly at the gesture, so unused to it as she was, and she waited quietly for Chandler to return from the bar, which he did about ten minutes later. "Here," he said again, pushing a tumbler of ice cold Coca-Cola into her hand.

"Thank you," she said, noting the beer. "Budweiser. Proper American."

"Proper American?" scoffed Chandler, nodding to the label. "It's supposed to be German." He sat down next to her, taking a sip, as Jo smiled, her gaze passing to the window which, had it been lighter, would have given them the view of the vast wasteland which was Continental's Bakken shale gas field, illuminated as it was by intermittent gas flares which released the methane and sulphur dioxide build-up in the lower rock strata, few trees and plants and, though not sandy, a not home to much vegetation and, as such, little ecosystem.

"I noticed that had Guinness," nodded Joanna, approvingly. "Give me stout any day of the year, or real ale – none of your lager rubbish!" She smiled, and Chandler smiled too when she lifted up the Bud.

"Well, let the lager rubbish toast your superior Coca-Cola to mark your triumph." They both nodded, and then he took a sip. Jo sipped her Coke, the ice-cubes very cold on her teeth, but the drink tasted too nice to be sent back after a hard day and a hard week, if truth be told. Just then, her phone vibrated in her pocket again.

"Sorry!" she exclaimed Jo to Chandler, getting up. "Its my mum – ir's only about 11 o' clock at home, I think. Do you mind?"

"Not at all," he said, as Jo left her seat and, walking to the door through which they had come snf, speaking with a finger in one ear she milled backwards in front of the glass panel of the door as she spoke to her mother, every so often avoiding the incoming drinkers.

"All OK?" Jo nodded.

She likes to check I'm OK. Is a massive risk, to all my family, me being out here, me being out here you see. They rely on just me, not - " Jo broke off suddenly, looking at Chandler in alarm. "Anyway," she said, changing the subject, "I'm staying and shaving practically a month off at the end. It'll work out much better for us." She looked back at Chandler, who was trying to ignore the feelings of discomfort in his stomach again.

And then, they talked. Just that one beer for Chandler as he joined her on the soft drinks, and at around 9 o'clock he suggested they borrow a tray for all their half-finished drinks – the bar was getting full and they could hardly speak loud enough without straining to be heard.

"OK, Mr. Bing, but no funny business," Jo joked, smiling. "I can look after myself."

"That I've no doubt, considering where you live," Chandler said, pushing through the other door that led to the apartments. "Ah, that's better. I can hear again. Where were we?"

"I was trashing the music of the 1980s and you were explaining why Kurt Cobain was a deadbeat music-thief," she replied, following her new friend into his apartment. It shamed her caravan, that was for sure, although it was clear Chandler Bing had not been expecting guests, ot he would probably have tidied up.

"Leave them, I'll get them," said Chandler, quickly tidying away his breakfast crockery that was strewn all over the living room coffee table. He then went on to collect some clothes and magazines which were also scattered around. "There," he said, "much better." Joanna put down the bar's tray of their drinks.

"I have more Coke; you needn't have brought those with us," Chandler continued, his voice muffled by the fridge door as he spoke behind it, head within, moving some things around. "And Dr. Pepper? Or root beer." He leaned back from inside the fridge, and added more clearly, "or coffee? _Tea_?"

"Coke'll be fine," called back Joanna, perching herself carefully on the edge of the sofa then, feeling awkward, getting back up again,

"I'm putting in some oven pizza – want some?" Chandler called again, as Jo looked around his sparsely decorated apartment.

"Only if you're sure," she replied, looking again for any photos of his adopted, twin, grown-up children. "It is tomorrow you go to New York?"

"Yes. Sloulin Field has a direct service. I'll be back Sunday night, then work 'til shut-down."

"Yes," nodded Jo, as Chandler put in pizza. "Thank you," she added.

"For what?" Chandler looked at her, sharply.

"For the pizza. I could really do with some snap."

"Snap?"

"Oh, food. I mean food. I could really do with some." Nodding, Chandler rose from the oven, pouring out fresh Cokes before crossing over to her and sitting down, beckoning her to sit, too.

"Can I just say, I don't normally make a habit of coming round guys' apartments who I've only just met?" She turned her head to him, her eyes earnest.

"That's right," replied Chandler, whose brain had registered only the sarcasm in his sentence. "You put yourself in more danger by living in Chaos City." It was only after she saw her face fall that he realised that his words could also be interpreted as a hurtful dig.

"I didn't mean it like that, Joanna," he said, frowning as Jo looked away. "I meant to convey that I'm sorry you couldn't stay somewhere like here instead – I'm sure your family would be reassured? Your mum?" There was more awkward silence, then Jo looked back at him.

"Sorry. It was very good of you to ask me for a drink and everything, but I would really appreciate it if you could take me back home now? Sorry about the pizza."

"Alright," said Chandler, feeling his heart sink as he got to his feet. It had been a great day for her, and he had made her feel bad. "I will, as long as you will do one thing for me. Well, two."

"Yes?"

"Stop saying sorry all the damn time – you've got no need to be."

"Yes?"

"Ask Bob Samuels if you could have some of the money they promised you in lieu as an advance, there's smaller places here; you could offset it against the rent." Jo sighed. He was clearly trying to be helpful, and not all nosey or horrible.

"OK," said Jo. "I'll stop. As long as you do something for me?"

"Mh-hh?"

"How about, instead, you stop worrying about my accommodation arrangements and be pleased to know the chest-of-drawers gets pushed across the door every night and I sleep with a rolling pin under my pillow?" The look in her, steely and determined, made Chandler stop in his immediate attempt to argue. "I may have to live in Mitchell for two more months, but moving here may leave my family homeless."

"Stay for the pizza, English," nodded Chandler, as he stepped over the coffee table and to the kitchenette, "then I'll get you back. And, I'm the one who's sorry." He looked back over at her for a moment, making sure the message got home.

"Alright," nodded Joanna. "Pizza would be – perfection." Chandler stopped as if he had trodden on a thumb-tack with bare feet, narrowing his eyes for a second as he glanced at her. She was just sipping her drink, however, and clearly her choice of words were a coincidence.

Three hours later, so late, in fact, that it qualified as the next day, and Jo and Chandler's conversation had moved from staid, through to jovial, random, surreal and was now into the ironic. They were finding they had a lot in common, agreed on a good deal of things – music excepted – and were now heading into the zone typical of long, late-night conversations, which was philosophy.

"I saw Trump in an elevator once, in New Jersey," said Chandler, nodding to the beat of something they did agree on, music-wise – Crowded House. "We both did, my ex-wife and I."

"And now, he's your president," continued Jo, her knees up to her chest, her socks and shoes off, leaning against the side of the sofa.

"Don't put a dampener on things," moaned Chandler, rolling his eyes. "And we were having such a good night, too. Democracy is dead."

"Not your favourite president of all time, then?" Joanna smiled over the rim of her glass.

"What? Are you kidding? I woke up in 2016 and thought I was back in the nineteenth century! Or the eighteenth! We fought wars to get rid of jackasses like him. We fought you, English!" Joanna widened her eyes.

"Yes, I suppose that sort of thing is a big deal to you all, here," she nodded, putting down the Coke. "At home, years and years can go by without thinking about it. In the meantime, we have a government destroying itself trying to win independence from the European Union and making a ridiculous pig's ear of it."

"Not a European, then?"

"Oh, I'm a European. Europe's the continent. But, what's better? Being governed by an upper class, as we have always been - as your country fought for freedom from - making laws for us, an unelected aristocracy spanning centuries, or governed by an unelected elite who purport to make life better for all, yet unless you are fluent in twenty seven languages, how can you be sure? There's no difference now than in the past – Britain has always relied on the rest of Europe; Britain has always been governed by an unelected elite. Nothing, absolutely nothing will change, whether we are "independent" of Europe tomorrow, or whether we decided to vote again, and it came in as "majority remain". All you can do is hang on, and do the best you can."

"I suppose," nodded Chandler, in agreement. "Nothing much has changed under Trump; nothing much changed under Obama. It's the curse of what we are – Generation X. We work as hard as we can – and then some – just to stand still' we won't reap the benefits of our parents; we aren't of their time."

"You're right there," nodded Joanna, yawning and looking at her phone for the time. "Anyway, it's getting late – would you be able to drive me back?"

"What?" replied Chandler, too comfortable to move now. "Oh yeah? Are you crazy? With what I've put away?" He waved his hand towards the empty bottles of Coke on the table." Joanna laughed.

"Unless you don't mind me stopping here? Your sofa looks comfortable. And it would take a few hours to feel any benefit from the storage heater." She smiled, not wanting to put him out. That evening had felt good, she felt like she was young again, hanging out with a friend. There felt no harm in it.

"Sure, sure," agreed Chandler, moving up. "I'm going to hit the sack anyway – I'm off very early tomorrow for the city."

"I'm sure you'll have a great weekend with your son," said Jo, getting to her feet. "May I use you loo?"

"Loo?" Chandler frowned.

"You know, the toilet? WC? _Bathroom_?" Joanna emphasised.

"Oh yeah, sure," Chandler nodded. "In the cupboard in there you'll find a blanket. Night."

"Night," Jo replied muzzily, as she made to the bathroom.

"Use whatever you need," he called, as Jo closed the door behind her.

And tomorrow, she could go back and face her mountain of work. Never in her wildest dreams did she think that her proposal would be accepted, by Bob Samuels, no less. She had until Christmas shut-down to prepare the operations protocol, including drill samples from the B2 layer, and most of her weekend would be taken up with that.

That, she thought, as she balanced her phone on the sink, sinking sown onto the toiled seat, still clothed, as she stared at the device. James would understand, probably; Timothy was a little small to accept she wouldn't be back at Christmas.

But, when they were older, Jo knew, they would understand why she did what she did. It wouldn't change their circumstances, the awkward, difficult, elephant-in-the-room issue, which inevitably tainted everything in their lives, but it would help.

Leaving the bathroom, ablutions done, a tartan blanket in hand with her body slowly succumbing soporifically to the warmth and the darkness, Jo laughed aloud. Chandler Bing was asleep on his own sofa, mouth slightly ajar, snoring softly.

She placed the blanket carefully over him, looking at the chair. It'd do, thought Jo, as she folded herself into it, contemplating the weekend ahead. She'd slept in worse places than the warm apartment of a colleague, who was obviously a very sweet man. At least he was going away for the weekend, for she was convinced that he would ask her to stay longer. And, Jo thought, as she closed her eyes, she may not necessarily have said "No".


	3. Chapter 3

"Oh my God, Dad! Where were you? We were expecting you off the 1.30 flight!" Down the long terminal building of Newark airport Jack Bing's father strode, his overnight bag over one shoulder, jacket in hand as he smiled broadly at his son before drawing him in heartily in a loving embrace.

!Yeah, where were yoy, man?" questioned Joey Tribbiani, clapping his friend on the back. "We were going to go into the Villafe and catch up ion a late lunch to make up for Thanksgiving? It's almost four."

Chanfler looked at his son, now grown up enough to look angry at him, and to his ex-roommate from all those years ago. Yes, it would be fun to hang out with them – his son's spring break had been so long ago; that had been the last time for anything meaningful, though Labor Day had been the last time, watching the parades.

"I was delayed at Sloulin," he began, and I missed the flight. The next one was at 1.45."

"Delayed? What by?" His tall, blonde son shouldered Chandler's bag as they hailed a cab, which would take them back into the ciry.

"We can still go to the Village," Chandler continued, as they went through the Lincoln Tunnel. "I'll even have turkey at the 14th Place, if it's the Thanksgiving mood you're after."

Delayed he had been. After waking up with a mouth like sandpaper on the apartment's sofa under his old blanket it took him a food few minutes to realise that he was not hungover and a few minutes after that to realise he was pushed for time to get in the freeway to Sloulin and its small airport, which would take him back to the city. It had only been when he had emerged from the shower, grabbed his wallet and bag from by the counter that he realised a woman was sitting quietly on the chair opposite, just as he had remembered bringing her home the night before that Chandler realised that he had promised her a lift.

So, because of course, he couldn't have left Joanna Lucas to walk back to Chaos City on her own, he had taken her on the way, which had caused him to miss his flight, even if she had insisted he leave her at the highway exit to walk so as not to delay him any further.

"So, it's a woman, right?" grinned Joey, grinning the grin of someone who had not only guessed right but had hit the jackpot. "You brouight a woman back with you to your place, got drunk and slept with her?"

"No!" Chandler retorted, indignantly, as he ran over his friend's sentence. "I did a favour for someone, that's all, and it took longer than I thought."

"So," pressed Joey, as they got to the junction of fourth and Madison, "is she hot?"

"She's -" Chandler began, as both his son and Joey high-fived one another in triumph. "She's from work, and we hung out. But no, it;s not like that. She's a work colleague. She's English."

"Phh, don't let Ross hear you talk about this English woman, then," Joey shook his head, "Remember London?"

"How could I forget? Marriage no. 2, over before it began. Big mistake." But, Chandler was shaking his head.

"I'm just a bit sorry for her, that's all. She's the deputy engineering manager and she's living in the trailer park west of Newtown, y'know, where that teenager was murdered last year? She's not had an easy time of it. I helped her out. Our companies are due for a merger, or so we think, and once she's done at the Bakken, she can get a better job at home. But, she can't even get out to see her family this holiday – she has two little boys, as well."

"That's rough," nodded Joey. "Makes you thankful for what you've got."

"Must be bad on the kids, divorced parents, mom trying to hold it together," said Jack, looking sidelong at his dad. "But know you were always there, and you did your best for us, Dad," he added, softening the admonishment.

"Well, just be thankful that we did as long as we did. People change, Jack, people grow, and you hope they will grow together. But, sometimes that's just not possible. We tried, but there will always be times I will regret whether I made the right decision."

A silence fell, as the cab turned right down Lexingrton, but did not last when the driver leant on his horn as a form of auditory swearing.

"Look, we're here," said Joey, about half a block up the street where they were actually going. "Greenwich is sure nice this holiday," he added, hoping the topic of his friends' divorce would die. What with Monica angling for an opportunity to speak to him about something and Chandler seemingly clueless about all of this, it was something he was feeling uncomfortable about. Especially if there was another woman in the picture.

As the cab came to a halt outside "14th", between 2nd Avenue and between 9th and 10th east, the harbour towards Staten Island ahead of them in the near-darkness, Joey turned to the young man, who would be auditioning on Monday, and said, "Why don't you tell your Dad about the "Harry Potter" play?"

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"Joanna Jane Lucas," read Jack Bing, as he bit into his toast that morning. Breakfast, although it was pushing lunchtime, he put the credit card, Continental staff card, Tesco Clubcard, driving licence, with a grainy, black-and-white picture, adjacent a Union Flag.

"Hmmm, Joanna," nodded Jack, as he held the small licence card between his thumb and forefinger. "You've lost your wallet, huh? You're..." he looked at the licence, "...forty-one; your birthday is...May 10th...you live in Southwich, Cheshire."

He placed the card onto the counter-top and rooted around some more, finding eighteen dollars and a British five pound note, the Queen smiling back at him, a small tube of lipgloss, a tampon, a library card for some place called, "Crewe", and a phone number on a scrap of paper next to the wards, "Palliative Care Unit. Katharine House,"

"Palliative Care Unit?" said Jack, aloud. "Hey, Joey," he called, as his very worse for wear room-mate and big hand in the world of showbusiness, crept out of the window-side bedroom door, "What's Palliative Care Unit?"

"Not a clue," said Joey, arranging his dressing gown as he stalked towards the bathroom. "Some place to get Palliative Care?"

"You're not a lot of help," exhaled Jack, pulling the paper back inside the large pocket at the back of the wallet, where he had got it from.

"Why? What you got there?" Joey strode over to his room-mate and peered onto the counter.

"I was looking in Dad's bag to find a razor – I'm all out – and found this."

"Then, you decided to go through it?!" exclaimed Joey, shocked. "Why would you?"

"To see if we could return it?" suggested Jack Bing, his face reddening, hoping that it was enough to clear his name.

"Yeah, of course we'll return it," said Joey, looking down at it. "Who's is it?"

"It belongs to some _British_ woman," said Jack, emphatically. "Her driver's licence is in there, even a picture of some kids. And," he added, as Joey explored Joanna Jane Lucas's purse, "didn't Dad say that the English woman at work had two kids?"

"And! And!" exclaimed Joey, stepping back in shock as he realised something, "he said she was a woman, and she was English. Do you think...this could be hers?"

"That's what I thought," concluded Jack, nodding in agreement.

"Well, that's why you're a journalist, as well as an actor – you take the clues and make a story out of 'em."

A click of the far-side door, Jacks, room, where Chandler had bunked down on the floor to get the best five hours' rest after a night on the tiles he had ever had.

"Better get this back where you found it," Joey warned. "Whyever your dad has it, I dunno, but he mustn't know we've - "

"What mustn't I know?" A less hungover Chandler Bing after a night out there had ever seen – this was partly because he had chosen to go alcohol-free. "What have you got there – and don't even think about lying, young man! I taught you everything you know!"

To Joey's horror, and to Jack Bing's own surprise, he handed the black wallet over to his father.

"What's this?" he asked, staring down at it.

"Found it," Jack mumbled, "and when I saw it belonged to a woman I knew it wasn't yours. I was just thinking how we could get it back to her. You must have picked it up when we were out last night."

"I don't remember," said Chandler, tentatively, opening the clasp. And then, to his horror, he realised who the owner of the wallet was.

"Joanna Jane Lucas will be awful worried, don't you think?" prompted Joey. Chandler stared at his old friend, aghast.

"You've been through this?"

"Do you know who she is?"

"Yes – yes, I know who she is!" bit back Chandler. "It's...she's a colleague from work – remember how I told you about..." he broke off and looked between his friend and his son. "You've been through this."

"Just to check whose it might be, thinking whether we should take it to the police lost and found." There was a pause after Jack's smooth, saint-like explanation.

"Oh, my God she must have left it in my car when I took her home yesterday morning," Chandler declared, a hand on his forehead. "She'll be frantic, looking for this!"

"Yesterday morning?" Joey asked, smiling broadly.

"Yes, yes, after she stopped over with me – one thing led to another, and - "Chandler broke off, giving his friend reprovingly.

"She had been successful at work, we hung out, we talked, time passed, I dozed off on the couch - she on the chair," he added, shaking his head. "She's a friend, and she's vulnerable. Also, I feel pretty sorry for her,£ he continued, exchanging looks with Joey, "– the guys at work call her the English frigid prig, cos, well, she won't go out with anyone or hook up with anyone."

"Just give her a call, then," said Joey, "tell her not to worry, you have her wallet and you can give it back to her at work."

"Okay, okay, that's a great idea," nodded Chandler, "except - " he looked about him, and then back at Joey, "I don't have her number." Joey folded his arms as if trying to work something out.

"So, let me get this straight, she's your friend, this Joanna Lucas, but you don't have her number?" said Joey, doubtfully. "Sounds very much like a pick-up to me."

"Well, it would to you, but it wasn't – it isn't," overstated Chandler, carefully. "Guess I'll just have to return it Monday. Or tomorrow night, when I get back."

"There's a number in the waller, you could try," said Jack, leaning against the counter, and waving hi hand towards his dad's, still holding the purse. "It says, "Palliative Care Unit". Is that something to do with work?"

"No, no," Chandler shook his head, "palliative care? Isn't that to do with hospitals?"

"Maybe she works in a hospital? Or has a friend who works in a hospital? In England?" Joey pulled the towel from his arm, twisting round the kitchen chair, sitting on it backwards. "Or maybe..."

"Or maybe, we should just get on with our day around the city, and stop speculating about a work colleague who's wallet you've just been through,"declared Chandler, finally, striding back to the bedroom. Turning, he looked at his friend and his son, raising his hand as if to say something else, looked at the wallet again, then turned, closing the door behind him. Moments later, Chandler re-emerged, crossing the apartment floor to the bathroom.

"Coffee would be great, son," he said, smiling sarcastically at them, before jumping Joey's place in the bathroom queue.

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"It had eighteen dollars in," repeated Joanna, her face flushed, not caring if talking slowly and loudly was being patronising. "It had all my cards in it, my work card, my driving licence, credit card, everything."

"Look dear," said the store owner, whose tone now softened as she now knew why the English customer had asked for some groceries on credit, "have you looked - "

"Everywhere!" declared Joanna, hands in her hair. "I had it last at work on Friday – we have to sign out with our cards – and then...oh God!" Sinking to the floor, Jo rested her head on her knees.

"I am sure it will turn up – look, I have a meatloaf in the freezer upstairs – it will tide you over 'til the morning and you can get sorted out." The woman, leaving Joanna still sitting on the shop floor, turned the lock closed and made her way upstairs.

She hadn't used it after Friday night, Jo was certain. She'd gone back to Chandler's complex for a drink – he'd bought the Coke, he had been insistent – they had gone back to his place and hung out...so that meant...that meant...

Joanna stared out of the glass front of the shop window. It was dark now, and she'd only needed a few things – she'd had plenty in the van to see her through 'til Monday, or so she'd thought, and had spent so much time on her project report that she hadn't gone out. So...logically...her breath caught in her throat as Jo tried to force herself to calm down – logically, it had to be at Chandler's. Or, it had to be somewhere between work and Chandler's, or Chandler's and here.

Jo gazed towards the highway. If she'd lost it yesterday morning anywhwere along that quarter-mile stretch of dirt track, then by now she would have about as much chance of finding it as Southwick Town FC had of winning the F.A. Cup next year.

"Here," said the woman, who then introduced herself as Sarah Robertson, "bring the dish back as soon as you like, sweetheart. I'm sure the family will love my home-cooked meatloaf, even if I do say so myself."

"Oh, no," corrected Jo, looking down at the food, a very kind gesture made to her, she knew. "What I mean to say is, thank you so much," Jo nodded to the woman. "I've no family here – this will be more than enough for two days."

"Indeed, " nodded Mrs Robertson, her brow crinking, then added, "Englishwoman, here? Alone?"

"I work at Continental," said Jo, quickly. "It's the cheapest accommodation they had at short notice."

"Well," Sarah's smile returning, as quickly as it had left. "Be sure to buy a gun when you get your wallet back and put it under your mattress, that's all I'm saying," she said, folding her arms. Joanna felt her eyes widen.

"Just look after yourself, that's what I'm saying," said the woman, showing her to the door. "Do you want that I ask Mr. Robertson to walk you back?"

"No, thank you, Mrs Robertson. I'm fine, honestly. Thank you again, for the food, it smells delicious.

Sarah Robertson watched the English woman cross the dirt-filled parking lot belonging to the store until she was out of sight, offering small prayer to the Lord God for the woman's safety. Especially after what was going to go down tonight.

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A few hours in the city and they were at the coffee shop. Why was it always that, whenever they had met up, they would end up in "Cafe Perk?"

"You nervous?" Joey asked, patting Jack on the shoulder. "You look it."

"Can we go over the lines again?"

"Sure we can," said Joey. "Hey, wasn't it great to see your dad?"

"So great ro see him looking happy, for once."

"Well, it seems like he had a woman in his life – women'll do that for you."

"Women will do _what _to you?" Jack's mom, Monica stepped lightly over to the Cafe Perk sofa, sitting down next to her son and kissing him tenderly on his cheek. "Who's got a woman in his life?" she added, turning to Joey and pecked her friend on his cheek.

"Er, Gunther," said Joey, quickly, looking over at the ageing owner of the coffee show, white-blonde hair bobbing as he spoke to the woman at the counter, beaming widely.

"Is that her? The brunette?"

"We think so," confirmed Joey, raising this eyebrows in instruction for Jack not to say anything. Jack swallowed down what he was about to say, and smiled, innocently.

"So, how did your weekend go? Did toy see your dad?"

"Yup," nodded Jack, abruptly.

"And?"

"We had a great time, hanging out. Felt like old times," Joey smiled. "Sorry about Jack, he's trying to learn his audition lines for tomorrow."

"It's tomorrow?" asked Monica, half in surprise, half trying to hold her true feelings in. "And you've filed your copy for your editor for the week?" she added, her eyes narrowing.

"I have, mom," nodded Jack. "The audition is at ten tomorrow. I'm just so excited!" If I get it I could be seen by so many people, agents, directors. It could lead to so many doors opening, so many opportunities!"

"I'm proud of you," Monica smiled, leaning in towards her son and hugging him. Then, changing the subject, added, "I hoped I was going to catch your Dad – I wanted to talk about Christmas arrangements, Ross and Rachel are planning to spend Christmas with your grandma and grandpa. Erica and Emma said thet'd come too, so it would be us all again – firt time in years, Christmas in the city. I was going to ask your dad if he had plans and if he felt comfortable joining us.

"No idea," jumped in Joey, "I mean, he may wish to spend time in North Dakota this year."

"What?! For the gripping landscape, bone-freezing climate, and elks?! No, I think he'd want to spend Christmas with us, especially as his company shits down processing for ten days.

"OK, I'll ask him net time he calls," said Jack, picking up his script from the coffee table.

But, before he could open it, Monica asked, "He calls you? He calls you. That's great, honey," she smiled at Joey, whose help she had had, though ultimately coming to nought, in trying to get her ex-husband to enjoy Thanksgiving with them.

Nostalgia? thought Monica, as she listened to her son's first audition line, standing before the professional, clearly nervous. Yes, nostalgia wanted Chandler back. Nostalgia, yes, and the fact that though she had made such awful choices she had never stopped loving him.

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The knocking came again and again. Joanna pulled her blanked and sheet over her, wishing it really were a gun she had under her pillow, rather than a rolling pin.

Outside the noise was less than it had been – the clamour, shouting and car-engines, which had sounded as if the end of the world was nigh, had died down. Now there were just the unusual sounds around the temporary town – motorbikes and cars drag-racing, blaring of horns and the backfiring of engines. Whatever the night was going to be like, it had settled down to be like a usual one, for here.

But she had never had her door knocked on – hammered on – at nearly midnight like this before! Jo felt her heart lurch as it came again, this time with a muffled, indistinct voice. Should she say something? Should she stay quiet? Clearly the person there knew she was in, so staying quiet wouldn't necessarily help, and may actually make things worse.

At least she was sleeping in her clothes, thought Jo, as she slid as quietly as she could from bed, feeling around between the gap of the bed and the counter for the rolling pin.

Only when she was standing in the space behind the door, next to the chest-of-drawers and opposite the van's tiny shower did she had the courage to say something, but before she did, the knock came again, along with some words. Caught off-guard, Jo yelled in fright and the person on the other side stopped knocking.

"Joanna," she thought she could hear someone say and, at this, she knew that it could be only one of three people who knew where she lived.

Carefully, Jo moved aside the chest-of-drawers and put her hand on the latch. Before opeing it, however, she called out, "funny time for a social call, this is, Nathan," and was surprised when she heard, not her boss's voice, but another work colleague.

"Chandler?"

"I can be Nathan if you'd prefer," he quipped, but then, seeing her face, he added, "I'm sorry it's so late, I've just got back from the city. I have something of yours I think you've lost."

"Chandler!" exclaimed Joanna, feeling her concern ebb as she pushed aside the chest-of-drawers and lowered the rolling pin. "Oh, come in! Yes, yes," she added, hands to her face. "My purse!" Have you got my purse?"

Closing the door behind him, Chandler Bing shifted from one foot to another as Jo flicked on a switch. Lights flashed around the becurtained windows.

"No, not seen a purse," Chandler misunderstood, "but I have your wallet." He held it out to her, quickly. ""You left it in my car – it's had quite a trip; it ended up in my bag."

"Oh, Chandler!" exclaimed Joanna, stepping towards him and, forgetting the state of her clothing, being as they were what she had worn all day and were due for the laundry, flung herself to him, giving him a hug. "I've been looking for this all day!" she declared, taking it from him, opening and rifling through.

"It'll be as it was when you left it," Chandler clarified. "Nothing's missing," he added.

"And you came all this way tonight to return it." This wasn't a question – Jo was smiling in gratitude and, despite the hour, she was very wide awake.

"Well, for a friend, of course," Chandler said. "You lost your wallet, so I had to bring it back. More's the pity I didn't have your cellphone number or I would have called you." Jo smiled again - Chandler shifted from foot-to-foot.

"And you have it; I'll be heading home, he said, as Jo smiled once more, squeezing her purse. "Did you really just come straight from the airport?" gratitude still in her voice as Jo asked, "only you'll be hungry – you'll want some tea…coffee? I'm sorry about the mess," she added, looking sheepishly around the van at her belongings higgledy-piggledy.

"Well, your hostessing is forgiven, considering how you found my place, and also given that you didn't know I was coming," Chandler smiled. "To be honest, a coffee does sound great."

"And some meatloaf?" Jo pushed her mousy-brown hair behind her ears as she went into the kitchen area, pulled out a mostly-clean mug from the small cupboard, filled up the kettle, and switched it on.

"Nah, can't stand 80s heavy rock," Chandler replied, grinning. "But yeah, if you have some food "meatloaf", I'm famished."

After nukeing the rest of the meatloaf made by store-owner Sarah Robertson in the elderly microwave oven, Jo served it up onto a clean plate, before opening the half of a flat-folded table from the van wall.

"Just turn the – oh," handing Chandler the plate, she took her work maps and documents from one of the dining room chairs and, with her other hand, pulled her sheets and blankets over her bed, throwing them onto it. "Just turn the chair round, and there's the table."

Chandler tried ot to let the pity he was feeling for his new friend show on his face as he began to eat the meatloaf.

"This is good," he murmured, chewing fast and scooping up more. "Real good," he added.

"I didn't make it," Jo admitted, attempting to tidy up the tiny kitchen area, turning on the taps and beginning to wash up the day's crockery. "I was looking for my purse and the lady who owns the store next to the seven-eleven gave itto me when I'd explained I'd lost all my money."

"Well, next time you see her, tell her tat it was delicious."

Jo was just about to re-boil the kettle for a cup of tea herself as Chandler was speaking when a low rumbling, like a freight train, could be heard, slowly building until it vibrated its way through the van, the accompanying boom shaking the windows before the power went off. Jo screamed, holding onto the water mixer tap as the vibrations ebbed, only for another one to follow.

"Is this an earthquake area?" Jo her voice quavering as she asked her gloom-enveloped friend, knowing, of course, what the answer was.

"You know, North Dakota isn't known for earthquakes," Chandler said, his own voice unsteady, "either way, it don't sound good." Jo saw him move to the window and twitch the curtain."

"What can you see?" asked Joanna, almost too nervous to speak.

"A whole heap of trouble," said Chandler, as the roar of motorbikes and cars increased, as the gangs dispersed.

"Come on, Joanna" he said, switching on his mobile's torch function, illuminating the interior around him. When she didn't move, he insisted, "Just come on! Grab some things for work, some clothes, your work stuff, anything you might need. There's no way I'm letting you stop here on your own."

Despite a part of her wishing to debate at least three things in Chandler's imperative phrases, the common sense part of her mind overrode the slow processing part and, finding a holdall, scooped some things into it – her work suit, her phone, work laptop. She threw in her purse and several maps as Chandler held his phone high so she could see.

Stepping out onto the small porch, Jo fumbled with the keys as Chandler took her bag. Around her the whole area was in darkness – no power for any of the vans in her section, no lights from the shops, nor indeed, Mrs Robertson's store. Above and behind the buildings a red-orange glow illuminated the sky.

Dropping her keys, she heard Chandler exhale through his nose, before coming up next to her with his phone flashlight.

"Come on," he urged as Joanna fumbled for them, finally laying her hands on the bunch of metal before getting into his Ford. As he reversed the car, narrowly missing the gas cylinder on the van's exterior wall, then flooring the gas pedal Joanna looked about them, beyond the headlights, for the source of the red-orange glow. There was no mistaking that it was coming from the direction of the oil and gas fields.

"You all right?" asked Chandler, looking over to her. In the darkness, Jo nodded.

"Yes, yeah."

The rest of the journey was undertaken in silence and, when they reached the parking lot of the complex, which seemed alive with people, they said nothing to one another until Chandler had closed the door of his apartment behind them.

"Accident, or sabotage, that's my guess," Chandler said at last, throwing both his and Jo's bags down by the kitchen counter. "We'll find out tomorrow, I reckon."

Jo didn't reply. Instead she asked, "May I use your toilet? And – " she sniffed at the sleeve of her top, " – shower? I can, er, wait until you've, er, freshened up," she added, feeling a little ashamed of her forwardness. Chandler siled, folding his arms.

"Look, take your time. There's a spare room past the bathroom, not very big, though. I'll make up the put-you-up."

Okay, thought Joanna, then said, "Okay." It was all she could think _to_ say – that evening she had gone to bed ad had expected to wake up un her own bed tomorrow. What she hadn't expected was…this.

"Use the bathroom," urged Chandler. I've got some shower gel in the top cupboard where you found the blanket before."

Closing the door behind her, Jo gratefully stripped off everything before tuning the shower. It beat a cold shower at her place, or a strip-wash at the sink. Sometimes she used the gym shower at work when she could. It would do, she always told herself; this wasn't for long.

After switching off the shower and drying, the nicest feeling in the world, Jo realised that her clothes, something to wear to bed, were actually in the bag Chandler had put in the kitchen.

Opening the door slightly, she called through the gap to him. When there was no reply, Jo wondered what to do next. She could go out, wrapped up in a towel. Or, she could wait until he had finished setting up the temporary bed.

Choosing the former, and holding onto the towel limpet-tight, Jo padded across the wooden floor ad to the bags, tripping over Chandler's as she made for her own. The clatter brought the apartment's tenant into the living room, to find his guest in a heap on the floor in the hallway. While he modesty was still intact, her dignity was most certainly shattered. Chandler could not help but laugh, even trying to suppress it made it worse, and he laughed some more.

"Listen," he said at last, his laughter ebbing, "do you want me to get you up? Or shall I disappear for a minute?"

"The second," said Jo, feeling her arm through the towel. There'd be a bruise tomorrow. When she heard a door "click" she rescued herself and also a long sleeved t-shirt and shorts. Then, Jo made her way back to the bathroom calling, "all done" to chandler, who she could still hear giggling intermittently.

She had to admit, Jo thought to herself when, ten minutes' later, lying in the spare bed in the spare room of her colleague, despite the ache in her forearm, it was pretty funny, and had lightened up the mood. A knock coming at the door jolted her thoughts.

"Just wanted to check you didn't need anything?" Chandler's voice, muffled by the door, was warm and full of concerned.

"No," called back Joanna, then added, "Thank you, Chandler Bing. You really are a friend."

"Oh, not at all," replied the man, "it's what friends do."

"Night then," finished Jo, turning over to try to find a position where she wasn;t pressing on any bruising, and failing.

"Goodnight."

Only when he heard the sounds of the English woman sighing the rhythmic sighs of sleep did Chandler enter the bathroom himself. That explosion...what on earth had gone on? And, closer to home, what had he done bringing the frigid English, the stuck-up prig back to his apartment again?

But, of course, though he had made up the nickname for her, without even knowing who she was, and worse, the rumours he and the other guys had created about her, without an idea of who the English actually was, apart from the fact she kept herself to herself. Cruel, really.

She was, as he had told Joey when he was outraged that he and Jack had gone through her wallet, hardworking and vulnerable. It wasn't his place to tell her what to do, Chandler's thoughts continued, drying himself on a towel as he thought, but he would be horrified if she went back to that place.

And yet, it wasn't just her safety that concerned him either – he knew Continental had absolutely no conscience who they sent out to live at Marshall: Murderville, so he knew talking to personnel with her would not do a jot of good. It all came down to money, and if you hadn't got, then you couldn't get.

The nebula of a thought drifted around in his mind as he left the bathroom and went back to his eyes, trying not to repeat what his guest had just done with the bags. He'd propose it tomorrow, and see what she said.


	4. Chapter 4

It was dark when Joanna Lucas left the accommodation complex and began her journey to work. Though nearer to Continental's site – she had a company bus card for the sixteen-mile journey from Marshall to Newtown – it would take her a good hour to walk the seven miles from Chandler's apartment to get in on time.

She didn't have Chandler's number, nor any contact details for him, come to that, and so, after getting up at five, washing and dressing in the clothes she had level-headedly managed to throw into her bag, she'd quietly opened Chandler's apartment door and set off down the road which led to the highway.

Jo had, at least, found a pen and paper, scribbling down a few words of gratitude for the offer of a bed for the night, though she had slept fitfully, the serotonin was beginning to build behind her eyes as the walk in the cold and quiet began to pick her up from the dull-headedness that she'd had on working. She'd also added that she would no doubt seeing him around at work, wondering why it was, in the cold, hard early light of day, that she had agreed to stopping over with Chandler.

One step in front of the other, the rhythm was even and soothing and her mind wandered to the cause of her leaving with him: the explosion. Whatever had caused such an earth-shattering din last night? Terrorists? An accident? She would no doubt find out when she arrived. And, at least if the canteen was open, she could have some toast and coffee.

About forty minutes into her walk, as the weak winter sun began to creep its rays over the horizon and lightly warm her face, she heard the sound of a car behind her. Stepping automatically from the highway tarmac and into the verge – a couple of cars had passed her already this morning – she turned, her heart rate increasing inversely proportional to the car's speed. As it slowed, Jo held onto her bag, tightly, whatever good it would have done her, she told herself later.

As she was beginning to think she'd need to brace herself to swing her bag out at her potential attacker, and at least clobber him one with the end of the maps in her bag. Jo narrowed her eyes. The car drew up about a foot away from her and the window rolled down.

"You coulda waited for me, English. Or, was I giving you a head start?" Chandler Bing leaned out of the passenger-side window.

"I didn't want to presume," Jo replied, relaxing her muscles as the adrenaline ebbed. "And besides, it's cleared my head."

"Well? _Would_ you like a ride? It's not the best road to walk along...for_ five miles_...especially in the dark – cars drive awful fast along this road." Without waiting for her to answer, Chandler opened the passenger door of his Ford with one hand.

"That would be smashing, thank you," said Jo, gratefully, her relaxed muscles making her feel a touch light-headed. She climbed in next to him, swinging her bag into the back seat.

"I hope not," Chandler replied, clearly unused to the expression. "I'll drive slow, Jo." Joanna exhaled as she relaxed into the passenger seat, her eyes losing for a moment. She hoped that her day wouldn't be too trying, then she could get back to her caravan and sort out.

"Anyway, you left real early – didn't you get the SMS?" Jo opened her eyes, feeling in her trouser pocket for her mobile.

"No," she said, shaking her head. "Nothing." She turned in the semi-darkness to Chandler, his face illuminated by the lights from the dials on the dashboard. "It's old, second hand. My signal's rubbish."

"We're not to report in 'til ten-thirty. Whatever went down last night, you bet that Bob will have come in and investigated right away. You watch, there'll be increased security, like last time."

"Last time? This has happened before?"

"Nothing like this – Bob won't want anything reported that would harm profits, and bad publicity won't do him any favours." He dropped the gear into fifth and into a steady speed. "So, what would you like to do for a coupla hours?"

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Breakfast burrito at a roadside diner and a few really food cups of coffee later and Chandler pulled into his "reserved" space, turned off the engine and glanced around at the security men dotted around. Engineering was at the end of the site, past the main reception building and the car park, so she would have to walk down half a mile rather than a few dozen yards from where the bus stopped.

Beyond engineering it was hard to ignore the half-mile wide crater over which could be seen a dust cloud lingering nebulously.

"Well, thank you again, Mr. Bing," nodded Jo, as she reached for her bag. "I'm down there." She inclined her head to the end of the site, isolated from the rest of the building as if in quarantine. She stepped out into the concrete and closed the passenger door as the winter wind blustered through her hair.

"Well, whoever did this did a good job of it," Chandler nodded, in the direction of "Engineering." It could not be ignored whichever of the two roads onto the plant's site you came; it was as if a bomb had gone off. It might have, for all they knew. "Reckon you'll have the best view of it today," he added, closing and locking his own door.

A few spaces to the left and another car pulled in. Chandler turned to see Andrew Waterman, who leapt out quickly, making to walk across the car park, then stopped, turning his head back to take in his original field of vision, the one which contained both Chandler and Joanna.

"Bye," said Jo, smiling at Chandler, who smiled back. He would see her soon; he could suggest what he had wanted to suggest that morning another time.

"Bye," he said and, as she strode off, her bag shouldered in the direction of "engineering", her place immediately taken by Andrew, who shook his head in amazement.

"You son-of-a-gun, you," he said, when Jo was our of earshot. "No wonder you were cagey with us last time, when we saw you talking to her...I mean, you and the English?" He shook his head again, his face one of realisation.

"What?" Chandler looked at Jo's retreating back. And then when he realised what Andrew was driving at, frowned and folded his arms. "No, no!" he added, emphatically. "I helped her out, that's all."

"Out of her clothes?" said Andrew laughing, as they made towards the office block.

"Hey now, listen, man!" Chandler stood by the door he was just about to open and looked severely at Andrew. "It was nothing like that. I'd appreciate it if you kept this to yourself, alright?" His friend looked at him, doubtfully, one hand on the door handle.

"OK, Chandler," he nodded, the man Chandler had known ever since he had joined Continental nearly ten years before after coming out of Microsoft, and whom he considered to be a friend. "It's under my hat," Andrew finished, as the new security on the desk stepped forward, gnarled face typical of all heavies bending over them, which served to crinkle his face more.

"ID," the man growled, as if any answer other than the positive would mean instant ejection of the both of them. Chandler reached quickly into his pocket, finding his card, which was used to operate the internal doors. "Mr. Waterman, please go ahead to your place of work, as normal." He turned to Chandler. "Mr. Bing, you are to attend a despatch with the Board at eleven."

88888888

It had been almost entirely the opposite day that Joanna had planned – almost the entirely opposite week. Once the dust had settled, so to speak, on the "deliberate act of vandalism" as the explosion had been euphemistically termed, it was work as usual – more so for her, more frustrations as she waited for analytical profiling from the Analytical Chemistry department, who all thought they were God's gift to engineering when in fact it was they who caused delays, as well as copious amounts of money being used from Jo's project fund for what was essentially assays of sulphurous crude oil, with tiny percentages of methane. So, with complications like that to deal with, along with the crater where the explosion had happened still being the talk of the department, Jo hadn't wished for a weekend more.

As they had arrived the next morning a meeting had been called with all staff in the cafeteria, a place on site which could hold all of the workers at Newtown. Bob Samuels lead, which was unusual, however, the explosion at the weekend had been unusual, and clearly he was there as a calming, steadying influence. Jo was thinking about all the things the man was like – very good at the talk, very good at persuasion. But you knew, when push came to shove, it was very reassuring to have a person like that on your side.

"Sabotage," Bob had declared, "is plain and simple what happened to our company – our family – last night." He had then gone on to say that, as a long-standing American company providing cheap gas to the nation that meant less reliance on outside sources, some organisations were affronted by that, and were constantly trying to find ways to undermine the business. "I ask you to work with us to help get back into operation as soon as possible."

So, the message had been that it was rivals, or people with foreign interests, rather than an environmental or local attack. Jo had found her mind drifting to Southport, and the "green" protestors there, wanting an end to fracking before it had begun. NIMBYs, yes, people who didn't want it in their back yard – as with everything – but several with major environmental concerns."

"I'll need your report even more urgently, Miss Lucas," Nathan Daniels had told her as they had left. "The board need to be reassured that their investment will come to fruition, now they have relocated their focus from Pleasaunce to Westbury." And she had agreed. And soon it had become Friday lunchtime in far quicker the time she had ever known a week to pass, and she was waiting for Continental's Chief Executive Officer outside the boardroom with her report. It had duly been accepted for consideration.

The weather had got increasingly colder and, by the end of the week, a fortnight before shut-down, ice was forming on the inside of her caravan windows. But there had been some significant progress – Jo could feel that they were on the right lines or, rather, strong, reinforced logic told her that; she was just impatient. Her proposal could now be backed up by test samples from the drill sites – they were positive. Her report and the samples reinforced one another: she was vindicated at least. But, the proof of the pudding would only ever be in the drilling. And now, watching the coldness crisp over the single-glazed glass windows, she thought about the hour and a half call back home.

Timothy and James were well: they had spoken to her and had not asked too many hopeful questions of her. They had been delighted to hear her voice, and it had taken every ounce of willpower not to promise them she would see them at Christmas. And, she had called St. Katharine's. He was comfortable. Another appropriate euphemism. If only there would be a way that she could return to the 13th June, five years ago, and tell him that grocery shopping could wait.

As her mind lingered on him, her eyes resting on the Bakken region, as the gas flare-offs gave the otherwise black sky an intermittent orange luminosity. There was a good chance, more than a good chance, that she was going to have been right and got Continental a huge claim.

The horns from the cars, vans and motorbikes that were a permanent feature around the few shops within Marshall, punctuated the air. Her children...her sister caring for them. Her work, which seemed to be promising an early departure from North Dakota, back to Southport, in Lancashire, from where you could see Blackpool Tower on a clear day. And it was, even if he didn't want to admit it, all down to him – Chandler Bing – who had happened to have Thanksgiving plans at work, as she had done. If she could only call him, to tell him. But she hadn't even seen him all week, let alone consider how she could call him without his mobile number.

It was positive, Jo told herself, as she pulled her blanket round her, despite the the fact it was only six-thirty on a Friday evening.

Six-thirty. It was about the same time she had gone to see Chandler Bing in his office last week, and she had ended up at his place, platonically, of course. But the truth was, this week, with the added security and measures to prevent removal of any material from engineering, checking samples and traceability between engineering and quality control. In fact, so many things were checked it was a clear that the stable door was now secure given that the horse had already bolted.

Taking a quick wash and slipping into the warmest clothes she owned, Jo got into bed and vowed to make tomorrow count with work when her fingers decided to thaw and she could continue with her B2 layer report into the test sites.

Closing her eyes, her mind resting on her colleague to whom she was in a great deal of moral debt, she gave a silent "thank you" in gratitude, until finally tiredness supplanted the image of his face in her mind as she drifted off to sleep.

88888888

"That's great news, son!" At about the same time as Jo was talking on the phone with her family, Chandler was talking to his. Beaming at the news that his son was revealing to him, he scrolled forward in his mind to Christmas. Somehow, he had to go down to the city to see Jack, and congratulate him properly. "So, Harry Potter's son's friend, eh?"

"Yeah, it's real good, Dad," Jack had said.

"Have you told your mom yet?" Chandler had felt the pause in Jack's conversation at the mention of Monica, who could be quite critical of both him and Erica.

"Yeah. She's real pleased. She's coming over this weekend – she's hired a manager now, so she's got more time."

"That's great. She must be doing well."

"Hang on – Uncle Joey's just got back and wants to speak to you, Dad." Joey, thought Chandler. The man to whom his son – and he by extension – owed a great deal of thanks for Jack's break into acting. The line went silent for a moment, and then his friend spoke.

"Hey, Chandler, did Jack tell you?"

"He got the part? Yeah, he did. Thanks, Joe, you really helped him out, there."

"Aw, no, Jack did all the real work – they would'nt've casted him if they didn't think he was right for the part. He's a natural. And I got to go to -" Joey broke off, as if to give his mind time to assemble the words he was about to say into the correct order, " - what are your plans for Christmas?"

"Well, I dunno, Joe," replied Chandler, sinking down onto his sofa. "I hadn't really thought about it. I've got some gifts from you guys and everything, but - "

"Well, before you go on," cut in Joey, "I have been made acting consultant for "The Cursed Child" on Broadway. It means I have to speak to a buncha people over in London about the details. I'm to fly out on Christmas Eve, and I'll be back on 30th, just in time for New Year."

"Sounds amazing, Joey, really it does."

"I've got to go to the West End, to consult on the play for the Broadway directors – I have to see it and make detailed notes; I have to see it and have a commentary about the important of each part, each scene, each costume. It's going to be amazing! The hotel's on Trafalgar Square and, best part about it is, I have 2 tickets..." his voice trailed off just for a second, and then he continued, "I was just wondering...I wanted to ask you, Chandler, if...if you would like to come with me, you know, to enjoy the sights, to see London at Christmas..."

London! Wow! That would be something. Joseph Tribbiani, stage consultant, was going to have a knock-out time. But...London? He swore he'd never have that city feature on his social calendar again -

"What I'm saying is, London at Christmas. With me?" Joey's words broke the flashback of "that city" which was beginning to be recalled by his cerebellum. "I could sure use the company. I would have asked Jack but he as a pretty intense Christmas schedule of rehearsals if the show is to open in the spring."

"Er, can I get back to you on that one? London, you know Joe, it's where Monica and I...you know..."

"Yeah, sure," replied Joey, "unless you have...other plans?"

"Other plans? No. I don't have other plans."

"No? Not with...the English woman? What's her name, Joanna Jane Lucas...?"

"No, not at all. I don't have any plans for Christmas," Chandler clarified. It had been a whole week since they had spoken to one another. She had gone off, wind in her hair, bag to one side, back to him towards engineering in Monday morning after finding her trying to walk to work although during the week her name had appeared more than once in conversation.

"Okay then, so how about next weekend you come down to see us, so that way I don't miss out on seeing my old roommate and my current roommate's dad before the holidays? I'd sure like to see you before I go."

"I haven't said "no", Joe."

"But you haven't said "yes"." Chandler could tell by the tone in his voice that Joey was disappointed.

"Yeah, I can come to the city next weekend," Chandler said. "Can you put Jack back on?" A crackle, and a quiet line for a moment meant that Joey was replaced by his son.

And so it had been arranged. Next weekend, after shut-down, Chandler would spend Christmas with his son in New York. And he was glad, too. He would never have arranged it, but it had worked out OK.

Chandler flicked on the TV and watched the scrolling CNN newsbar at the bottom. Christmas in New York. Which would mean Christmas with his once-close friends, now his in-laws, who blamed him squarely for his and Monica's divorce.

Getting up for a lemonade, Chandler pondered on the prospect. There'd been worse Christmases, he supposed: nine of them had been pretty lousy, away from the twins, for a start. But, this was the future now: his son was growing up, his daughter too. Considering the only other option was stopping here, practically alone for the holidays, Christmas in New York would be just what he needed.

Just as Chandler was contemplating his holidays an actor, in his great-grandmother's apartment, high-fived his roommate at a coup well initiated.

88888888

"Hey, have you heard?" Andrew Waterman was leaning over the desk of Steve Silverman, his face reflected in the chrome desk lamp's base as he grinned. "A new seam of raw has been confirmed." From his desk at the other side of the office Chandler Bing looked up.

"Yeah? Well that's great!" Steve replied, relief on his face. "I've moved once this year; I really hoped this was going to last longer, what with the extraction figures and everything, I told Marie that we could settle down for a while, rather than trekking across dozens of states for my job."

"Well," said Andrew, pushing over a sheet of paper conspiratorially. "If you want to reassure her some more, take a look at this." Steve looked. Chandler, head turned as the latest batch data downloaded to the LIM, listened.

"Well, you're on it too. And Chandler."

"What am I on?" Chandler had crossed the floor and was standing next to his friends.

"Oh, hey," said Andrew – while friends, Chandler was still their boss - "Michelle," he said weakly. "You're on it too, Chandler. It's engineering that's taking a bit of a loss, though most of them will relocate to Louisiana or Texas, no doubt."

"Yeah," echoed Steve.

"But that's impossible! One of the biggest claims Continental has ever got, and we're losing people?" Andrew and Steve exchanged looks.

"Hey, I'm sorry man," Andrew began.

"Sorry for what?"

"The stuck-up English prig," he said. "Looks like - " he mimed a chopping action against his neck.

"Isn't on it, said Chandler. "Cos that's the _administration_ list," he corrected, pointing at the footer. "Not that it matters much to me," he lied. "I helped her out that one time – anyone would."

"OK then," said Andrew, folding up the illicit page. "You just see if I'm right. The merger's off, you know that? Caudrilla's too expensive, especially now they've got a new raw at Westbury. They aren't going to be keeping on staff, especially not filthy foreigners."

"I'm not interested, Andrew. Besides, I need the latest geophys data put onto the shared drive so please, get rid of _that_ before I remember that I saw it, and get 'em to me, OK?" Andrew raised his eyebrows to Steve, who shrugged and looked back at his monitor.

And that might have been the end of the matter, had not a certain initiator of the proposal of drilling at Westbury come up to the tech processing office to speak to tell the head of tech that, with his help he had been successful. Jo, her cheeks burning, darted quickly from the door.

She had been there with the pragmatic proposal that if she sub-rented his spare room for the remainder of her working time at the site she might feel a little more comfortable. He seemed a good person, and there had been an arson attack on a van opposite hers and the atmosphere at Marshall was becoming decidedly hostile between locals bringing vehicles there to confront gangs of Continental's workers.

Now Jo knew better, and thanked fate for allowing her to overhear his true feelings, at last – it would save her a lot of trouble in the long run and not to get involved with people again. She had been successful here, she knew, and whatever the future held, Jo knew that she would be able to do it again.

88888888

"OK, but this will be the last thing I say on the matter," Andrew said, looking at Chandler Bing across his monitor, decorated festively with tiny baubles, trees and santas. "There's been security all over the place the night before last, rumour has it that someone tried again."

It had been nearly a fortnight since Chandler had brought back Joanna Lucas to work after the explosion had put half of the site out of commission. Since then overtime had been paid for any worker who had come in to help the company get back on track; food had been laid on and there had been something of a camaraderie atmosphere, pulling together to help rebuild and repair.

Security had remained tight and there were few places that any worker could go without a large security guard around, not so much keeping tabs but ensuring presence.

"Ah yes, rumour, that reliable of messengers," said Chandler," sarcastically, as he pressed the "send" button on the stratification data. It had been more than true that Westbury had held such an unimaginable amount of raw – shale gas and oil that was ready for extraction – and he had often thought back to the day on Thanksgiving where he had encouraged Joanna, lacking in confidence as she had pored over the local maps, to give it her best shot with the board. And what a result for the company – it was only right she was highly praised for this.

It had been a pity that he had not seen her since he had found her walking to work the day after the explosion. In the staff meeting held the day they had got back he had looked for her where the engineering workers were standing and had glimpsed the back of her head. But that had been it.

But, he supposed, they had all been at it. Even he, the man you would not have seen dead at work of a weekend had come in to process not only the Westbury data but to manage the regeneration of the blast area by running viability data through the LIM.

And then, a few nights before, he had gone out there, to Marshall, to see how Jo was. The van's lights were on, and he could hear her talking. Getting to the door, however, he was shocked to find it had been broken, nearly in two, and a repair had been done. He had gone to knock, but had heard her, still talking, but with a choking in her voice, and had left.

"Well, what else do you suppose has caused the Newtown data to be offline?"

"If I told you, then I'd have to kill you," said Chandler, to his friend's conspiracy theory.

"Perhaps the English?" suggested Steve, looking up over his monitor now.

"She won't be here long," replied Andrew, grinning. Chandler felt himself bristle.

"And why do you say that? She's not losing her job; she has saved this company by opening up a large amount of raw in a place that even the execs thought was unproductive."

"Yes, but, what you seem to be forgetting is that, while Continental is saved, we aren't taking Caudrilla. The merger's off the table I know that for a fact."

"From the fragrant Michelle Smith?" Steve added, as Andrew grinned, and he tapped the side of his nose.

"You should get some, Chandler, man. Didn't you have her practically living with you at one stage?"

"Get outta here, Waterman, or I'll….reconfigure your hardware."

"If that's a euphemism, it's rather funny"

"No, I'll reconfigure it, all these wires, you won't believe what I can do to your CPU. And RAM? It wouldn't be RAMMED with any more field readings"

"Hey, have we touched a nerve?" asked Steve, grinning too at the ribbing they were giving their friend.

"Forget it, Chandler," said Andrew, hurriedly, noting his boss's expression. "If you can't make it with a woman who you've had under your roof twice then that's your loss. All I'm saying is, those people going will know by shut-down. Merry Christmas."

"Yeah, whatever," Chandler grumbled back, thinking about the conversation he had accidentally overheard, the tears, the half-destroyed door. He'd go tonight again, and check she was OK and propose something which he had intended to put forward to her after she had stopped the second time – it would be doing him a favour if she would house-sit when he wentt to New York for Christmas. It had to be better than Marshall.

88888888

"Hey Joey, you know that ticket for London?"

"Yeah?" Joey, still a bit out of breath after taking the stairs of the apartment block two at a time, sat down on the step between apartments and answered his call. "Can I still buy it off you?"

"You wanna go to London with me?" Joey felt his heart sink. He and Jack had been pleased with one another that they had got his dad over at Christmas. Monica would be there and whatever they might want to work out might, well, work out for them.

"After last time? Sheesh"

"The English prig whose wallet Jack went through."

"She's not a prig. I regret ever making a joke with the guys. But yeah, for the English." There was a long pause. Joey was thinking.

"I said "yes" before, Chandler. But she mustn't be seen, I want no part in this."

"No part in what?" Another pause

"No part in taking an English back to…England?" Joey's words were clumsy and ordinarily Chandler would have picked up on it. As it was he grinned down the phone.

"OK, so I can buy the ticket?"

"No. You can have the ticket. It's a nine thirty flight from JFK. Back early hours on 30th. Look, man, are you sure?"

"I'm coming to spend Christmas in the city, with my children, my ex-wife, her parents, my brother-in-law, Rachel…I'm doing my bit for good cheer – I just need to send the karma around a but so I can get a break in 2019. She's bout to lose her job and she doesn't know it."

"Oh, alright. But come over with her, Chandler alright? Otherwise, it would seem a bit strange me boarding a plane to London with a woman I've never met before, who you shared your apartment with but are not dating, not sleeping with and who you feel sorry for".

"OK then." There was a pause.

Chandler was about to say "bye" and hang up the phone when Joey added, "Oh, by the way, Jack was supposed to have asked you days ago, but didn't get round to it. You're staying with him at the apartment at Christmas and New Year."

"Oh, I am?" Chandler was about to retort to this – he'd planned to book a late hotel and at least have a bit of space to himself in case it turned ugly. Then, he thought about what he'd just asked his friend to do. "Too right I am!" Chandler declared, trying to force himself to think about the fun they'd have, with their grown children in NY. Like the last time…of that train-wreck when solitary confinement would have been better than having to spend sixteen hours putting on a show of pleasantness at Ben's wedding. He forced the thoughts from his mind as Joey began to speak again.

"Alright," he summarised, leaning against his desk. "Alright. I'm driving to NY, with the English, at which point you'll be at the airport – "

"- JFK – "

" – JFK airport, with the tickets. She'll go off to London and be with her family, coming back early on 30th, and I'll be enduring, I mean enjoying Christmas with my ex-wife, my grown up children, my old college roommate – who still hates me for divorcing his sister, and his wife who will not have any good thing to sat to me. And I'll be sober."

"That's right," confirmed Joey.

"And you'll be taking them to the Gellers on Christmas Day, to spend the day with them, and Erica and Emma."

"Oh my. Life couldn't get any more exciting."

"Well, that's good," smile Joey, the sarcasm totally passing him by. "It's going to be a really great Christmas."

88888888

A knock on the door caused Jo's heart rate to quicken and she froze mid-way through folding up some of her washing. It had been a long fortnight, but at last she was trying to make some headway. In a couple of days time it would be Christmas Eve, and the plant would shut down, and she would be able to spend a few days not working, trying to enjoy a break, and desperately, desperately missing her family, and bearing the guilt her mother had put on her for not being home with James and Timothy, declaring that if she cared about them at all she would find a way.

"Just a minute," she shouted, thinking to herself that she hoped it wasn't teenagers again, bored as they inevitably were at Marshall, Caravan City, with nothing better to do than play knock-and-run. It was too early for the gangs – they had caused the door to cave in at the weekend. To their credit, Continental had sent someone out to do a temporary fix, and it did close.

When she had moved the chest of drawers back from it, her heart almost in her mouth from adrenaline as Jo wondered who could be knocking, she felt her knees sagging as she gasped, "Chandler!". No gang warfare. No bored kids. Then she felt her her face redden.

"Hi," said Chandler. "Sorry to call so late, it's just I haven't seen you. What _did_ you do to this door?"

"Locals," said Jo, shortly, holding onto the doorframe.

"So, can I come in?" He smiled at her, and peered past into the van.

"Sure," said Jo, standing aside. The place was still a mess – it was hard to keep a small place tidy when it was not only your bedroom and living room, but also your kitchen, bathroom and office.

"Can I get you something? Tea? Coffee?"

"No thanks," Chandler said. "I just stopped by to see how you were doing. We're closing up tomorrow, and I haven't seen you for nearly two weeks."

Joanna stopped. It was a shock to see him, even more so when she noted the Christmas paper-wrapped gift he had in his hand.

"Please, sit down," she said, her voice subdued. So, why was he there? He'd called her an English prig in front of his friends, and laughed about not sleeping with her. And now here he was with a gift for her.

"I'm sorry, I haven't got you anything," Jo said, making a smile show instead of discomfort. She hadn't a gift for him because she hadn't thought he would want one. She couldn't imagine Chandler, the kind man she thought he was, would want anything off her again. Why he had come to see her was a mystery. They were just acquaintances who had got on well a fortnight ago, and then they had parted. "Mainly, because, well, didn't you call me an English prig?" Chandler stopped, his face frozen as he began to think rapidly.

"When? When did I call you that, Joanna?"

"Last Tuesday, when I came up to your office to tell you the B2 layer had been drilled and raw had been extracted." Her face reddened in the dullness of the caravan's overhead strip light. "You said, "….the English prig wasn't on the list." She watched his face move into one of shock, and, though one part of her wanted to discuss it, there was an overriding part which reminded her to come to her senses. "I'm an "English prig"?"

"Yes, yeah, I did say that. But not you, not about you. It was…" he paused. It wasn't going to sound well however he said it, "…it was a few months ago…me and the guys were just fooling around…"

"But you didn't know me months ago…" Jo's words brought the conversation to a stop. Chandler looked at her and then away.

"Look, I am grateful and everything that you came all the way over here, with a Christmas present for me," she finished, looking past him and staring at the wall, doing anything to keep her composure. "And, for what it's worth, I came up to tell you about us hitting oil and gas, and to say I had to present to the board next week – tomorrow now - with Nathan. And also to thank you. So, thank you, Chandler."

Chandler got up, placing the gift onto her table. He couldn't, really couldn't, bear to see her face looking like that, hurt, cold, alone, afraid.

"I am sorry, Joanna. For what it's worth, I didn't know you then, and I'd never have said those things about you now I know you." It sounded lame, even he knew that. "See you at work tomorrow?"

"See you at work," repeated Joanna, her face frozen, as he let himself out. But he had, he had said those things, she let her mind think, as she heard the Ford's engine spring to life outside. And yet, he'd brought her something.

Pushing the chest of drawers across the back of the door, then peering out through the curtain momentarily, Joanna frozen exterior melted into a flood of tears whose torrents overflowed into the early hours of the morning.

88888888


	5. Chapter 5

"You sure that's what your mom, said?"

On the wing in a Broadway theatre, as Jack Bing used a dimming spotlight to read his script, Joey Tribbiani leaned near his left ear. Jack jumped a little, such was his concentration on the words, and his slight nervousness at being in such a prestigious theatre, albeit in a small role. How marvellous that he had a chance like this – he wanted to do his out-and-out best.

"Uncle Joey," he sighed, smiling, and putting down his script. "Yes, yeah. I spoke to her. She is looking forward to coming into the city for Christmas with us."

"And how's she about your dad?"

Jack paused. He'd told her, and she had gone silent for a few seconds before telling him that it would be really good to see him, after everything.

"She wants to talk to me about something pretty big, and dad too." Jack watched Joey, whose face froze a little, before nodding, eyebrows raised. Then, something dawned on Jack. "Say, do you think she wants to give it another shot?"

"Well, he's bringing the English woman...if mom does want to, that's not going to help." Jack looked down at his open script, at the highlighted phrases on the page, which were his lines and stage direction as the lights from the Lyric Theatre's semi-circular vaulted ceiling.

"No problem!" exclaimed Joey. "The English woman's coming with me to get back to London, didn't your dad tell you?" Jack's face fell a little, and nodded his head.

"Yeah, he did. I just wish I was coming with you," Jack lamented. "It'd be so good to see the show all through and my part too. You're gonna have a blast, Joey." agreed with all you told him.

"And," replied Joey, clapping his honorary nephew on the back, " if I'm right, and that's what your mom wants to tell your dad, it's all worked out, Jack."

"But..." Jack felt the guilt in his stomach. He was supposed to have called his dad, and invited him. But no time had ever been the right time after he had come back from the theatre, or trying to fit it in when he knew his dad was two hours behind. And, there was no reason for it. "I didn't tell him., Joey."

"But I did, or rather, your dad called me for a favour, and he's coming."

"To grandpa and grandma's? Everything?" Suddenly, the young adult that was Joey's old roommate's son looked like a child again, his eyes twinkling with the wonder of the season and Joey couldn't help beaming back, too.

"You bet," Joey replied. "He went through it all, listed everyone he was going to spend Christmas Day with: he's going to your grandpa and grandma's, with your mom, and Erica, Emma, Uncle Ross, Aunt Rachel."

"Wow! Alright!"

"Shhh!" said a pair of actors on stage, as Jack's exclamation interrupted their rehearsing of their scene. Jack fell silent, and looked back down at his script, desperately searching for where they were, so he could find his place.

88888888

"...Santa, baby...so hurry down the chimney tonight..."

In the canteen, where, three weeks ago, the CEO of Continental had called a meeting regarding the deliberate attack in the site the annual closedown celebration was in full swing. The room was warm, and rather packed, with workers and colleagues from the whole site socialising, chatting, laughing.

The last three weeks had been intense: a lot of effort and self-sacrifice had gone into turning the crater that was all that was left of the firm's localised drill site back into a working extraction site again.

Up the stairs, the last department to close was data analysis. Chandler had had to make sure all of the pipework was free of gas and oil before he shut down the laboratory information management system, and it had taken him most of the morning.

Not that he really cared too much about the party – he had been sober now for just over seven years, and, apart from the odd beer, the idea of alcohol pretty much brought back too many bad memories that he avoided social situations as much as he could.

But, unfortunately, he could not avoid this one. Across the room Steve and Andrew were in a heated, animated discussion about the merits of the Samsung Galaxy 9 versus the Applie iPhone XS Max, being carefully avoided by just about everybody in the room.

Relaxing a little, Chandler reached for a water from the drinks table, laughing to himself about his friends, and considering that, had he been up sooner, it would have been him involved in such a discussion and being avoided as a result.

It had been two days since he had called at Joanna's caravan, two days since he had to admit that it was him who had given her the cruel nickname that she had overheard. Two days of regret. Driving back had been the hardest part, knowing that it was idiocy to do what his instinct had told him, which was to drive back to her trailer and ask her to apartment-sit. He had made her feel foolish and insecure.

And still, he had not gone to track her down. He had left her gift for her, and had hoped that she would have opened it to see what he had got for her – this might have helped to change her mind towards him. But instead, she had not come over; she had not called from engineering. As far as he knew, she'd said said she'd see him at work, but it hadn't happened. If it had had, he would have had the opportunity to apologise correctly this time.

The redundancy situation had not been the best-kept secret on site. Naturally, Chandler had suppressed the source of the information, but it seemed that Michelle Smith from personnel had taken it upon herself to gossip. She may even be, right now, gossiping, for she was leaning on the table next to the nibbles, women surrounding her and she was talking to them in what appeared to be continuing.

Taking a sip of his water – _not_ Continental's finest vintage, rather, bottled, he scanned the room for Joanna Lucas. Her boss, Nathan Daniels was there, his balding head nodding to the strategic site manager, David Spellman. It had been he, Joanna had told him, who had given her a hard time in her meeting, which she had called, and had grilled her for a long time over several technical details.

She had to be here – Joanna Lucas – he had to find her and apologise. Even though she sounded polite, he could tell that she was not, and he needed to make sure she heard it, because - "

"Ladies and gentlemen - " a deep baritone voice, familiar to all at Continental, filled the room. Everyone was quiet, not least because everyone of these men and women depended on Bob Samuels for their jobs and pay cheques, "friends." He tapped on his beer glass to get the room's attention. At once, all fell silent as Continental's employees waited for their boss, his face beaming with good humour, to begin the speech

"It is Christmas, the time of good cheer, good food and family. The last few weeks have been difficult following the attacks on our site but now, seeing you all here, knowing that your hard work has paid off, you, you all, feel like family to me." At this, the room whooped with cheering, people high-fived one another and shouted, "alright!" Unused to such exuberant expressions Joanna folded her arms and waited for them to settle.

"With the help of you all, we are ahead of schedule and will exceed annual targets for national energy provision." More whooping and cheering. Joanna smiled in Bob Samuels' direction, and nodded quietly. Not many workplaces at home would have workers opening up their feelings in such a way but, she sort of liked it.

Chandler, who had joined in the applause had, at that moment, seen her, or the back of her head, at any rate. Jo was not involved in clapping or cheering, but was standing quietly with her department, next to her boss, Nathan Daniels, who was grinning Cheshire-cat-like as he clapped his team members on the back. Carefully, Chandler eased past one or two of the HR women, nodding to them as they nodded back politely, and gained some ground on the English.

"Hey," called Andrew, who had noticed Chandler had moved. "I was right all along, man. The whole of engineering's being redistributed. The English is gone." He pointed at Nathan Daniels, "Don't know why he's so happy. Do you think Samuels is gonna talk about the redundancies now?"

When Chandler looked back at his friend, who had followed him over with Steve, he nodded and said, "mh-h", then turned back to Joanna's direction. Nudging Andrew into silence, Steve inclined his head as if to encourage him to stop talking to him, for he had noticed who was in their friend's eye-line. Andrew nodded and stepped back to where they were as Chandler stepped towards Jo again.

"We are pleased to announce that the culprits for the attacks here at Newtown have been apprehended, but there has been significant damage to our heavy-ware. So, it is with great reluctance that I must share with you the restructuring of our own engineering team here, as well as some of our other departments." Bob Samuels nodded around the room, at pockets of people standing together with colleagues, some hugging the shoulders of others; some holding hands. Still more standing as an island surrounded by others, closing in rather than opening out to the announcements that their managers had broken to them that morning.

Chandler saw Jo look down briefly, at a piece of paper in her hand. "My God," he thought to himself, it's true! It's as Andrew had told him." He took a step towards them again, but the path was blocked from someone in finance moving in front of him to a person in HR. Chandler stepped out of the woman's way and he stood there, arms folded as he listened to Samuels.

"I must just point out that, had not our latest venture not been a huge, huge success, the number leaving us would have been much higher. As some of you may know our engineering department have been testing the viability of the Westbury site. It is from the effort of our very own Nathan Daniels, who begged me personally to see the work. Now," Samuels nodded, "you may not believe this, but Nathan and I began at Continental together about thirty years ago. Admittedly, I've still got my looks, and I believe you still have your pink shirt..." he nodded towards Nathan Daniels, who laughed at the joke. "Admittedly, my father owned the business, but, well, I have known Nathan a long time, and believe me when I tell you, he had a nose for this. Like a bloodhound!"

Nathan, in his clique of engineering colleagues, laughed at the boss's joke, and one or two of the older men clapped him on the shoulder.

"Come on up here, Nathan," encouraged Bob. Chandler watched him go up, continuing to shrug off the joke. "Now, may I just tell you, it takes a lot of courage to call up the board and to challenge a decision made by us. Especially Roger Myatt here." Next to him, the Head of International Operations laughed with Bob and Nathan, "and such courage, with such a payoff – three and a half million tonnes projected, isn't that right Roger?"

"That's right!" exclaimed the man, his Texan drawl making Chandler think they were three hundred miles south.

"Indeed, indeed." Bob has his hands around Nathan Daniels' shoulders as he got the floor back. "The payoff will be next years' profits if we do not gain raw anywhere else in the country!" There was a round of applause at the news, with cheers of appreciation. Chandler looked back towards Jo again who, at that moment, turned her head in his direction, their eyes meeting, before she looked away quickly.

And then Chandler realised that, it must have been her Bob Samuels was speaking about! Who had courage to call the board? Who had the courage of their convictions?

"Such perseverance, loyalty and dedication to our company must not go unrewarded. So, without further ago, will you join me in congratulations to our colleague here, whose worth to the company has just increased ten-fold, and who is to be promoted to - "

Then, why had Jo a redundancy envelope if she were about to be promoted?

" - our very own, Nathan Daniels!"

Nathan? Thought Chandler, disbelief suspended at the top of his mind for a second as he waited for the idea to sink in. Samuels was promoting Nathan Daniels on behalf of Jo's work?!

Has Chandler been a little more forthcoming with his outspokenness, or even just realised that he could put the record straight there and then, he might have said something. As it was, Daniels had the mike and was speaking about the honour that had been bestowed upon him – Director of Engineering and Multi-Site Operations.

"May I just say that, had it not been for Nathan here, then many more colleagues would be facing the New Year without a position. We have been able to accommodate a good may of you at different sites and in different roles."

"Now, hold up, Sir!"

To Chandler's surprise, it wasn't he who was speaking. Nathan Daniels had taken his boss's mike from the stand and had chosen to interject.

"May I just say, that it wasn't just me who did this. Engineering, where are you?" A cheer arose in answer to their boss. Jo, however, did not cheer. Instead, she pulled her cardigan around her arms a little before folding them.

"Of course, of course! We must not forget the team!" Samuels beamed at them all and raised his beer glass. "To Engineering."

"Engineering!" declared the room.

"May you find us more raw about the same time next year!"

"And so, at this moment, on behalf of the board and myself, it is with great pleasure that I wish all of you a very Merry Christmas. We look forward to seeing you back here on 2nd, bright and early!"

To this, the room applauded as Samuels stepped back to the seats near the closed cafeteria point, where the other seven board members were sitting, away from the rest. The music resumed and the workers continued to fill their glasses, greet one another again, chat, laugh, sing along to it. Chandler dodged past a few people to where Jo was but she wasn't where she had been.

"Hey, man," Andrew Waterman's voice appeared in the vicinity of Chandler's left ear and he turned, sharply. "I know you're dry, and everything, but, do you want a Bud?" He held the bottle out to Chandler, who looked at it vacantly, then back around the room."

"What? No, er, sorry, Andrew," Chandler replied, awkwardly, turning from him again and scanning the room.

"Looking for the English prig?" Andrew concluded, nodding to his friend. Chandler gave him a look before nodding in agreement.

"I think she left. Hey, I think this has been cooking too long. I don't buy that the job cuts were from the explosion here. That happened three weeks ago; those names were on the page end of October. Or so Michelle said."

"She's not a prig," corrected Chandler, looking round again, this time more desperately. "Can you believe that? It was her, Joanna, who did all of that! She'd been given the maps to work on, somewhere that had been already twice rejected as a potential site. It had been intended for an exercise for her, with some complications – Jo had mentioned that to him.

"They do that in engineering. She's foreign; she's a woman, and a frigid bitch at that. All the dead-end, boring, no-hope jobs go to them." That too. It must have been hard her coming all the way out here, with her family in another country, and already being pushed out.

"But she's..." continued Chandler, breaking off. "...that's not...look, say bye to Steve for me, will you?" he said.

"Where you going? I got you a Bud!"

But Chandler wasn't listening. Past people socialising with one another he pushed, knocking into a few, and was greeted with exclamations and swear words.

"Hey, Tom!" exclaimed Chandler, to the engineering technician who was busy chatting to Kathleen Brewer from finance outside the cafeteria on the aluminium stairs. "You seen Joanna? The English woman?"

"No," he said, shaking his head.

"But she was with you just now, in the speech."

"No," he shook his head again, this time turning back to Kathleen. But then Kathleen looked at Chandler.

"Yeah, she went off, just now. She probably went to get the bus."

The bus. The bus...

Not waiting to thank her, and pushing past them both, Chandler took the stairs two at a time. On the second floor the window looked down onto the temporary bus stop, just in time to see, to his horror, Jo stepping onto it, her work bag on one shoulder, head down. Poor woman! Not only does she get made redundant, her own discovery, claimed by her boss as his own, had caused Continental to concentrate in the Bakken and postpone the takeover of Caudrilla which would, if had gone ahead, made it that Jo had a good job when she got back to England.

Chandler turned into his own office to grab his coat as he continued his dash down the stairs. Outside the bus was getting smaller and more obscured by the dust from the dirt road. Looking into its wake for a moment, Chandler then dashed to his own car.

Racing after it, Chandler tried to flag it down by flashing his lights once it turned onto the highway. But the bus didn't have any intention of stopping for him, whether he had seen Chandler's lights or not.

Another idea replacing the first, Chandler then hung back a little, ignoring the group of people who were crowding around the back window of the bus. He lingered back for a few moments as he let the bus accelerate away, before he put his foot down, overtaking it at speed, and narrowly missing a car travelling in the opposite direction. If he couldn't stop the bus, then he would do the next best thing.

88888888

Three quarters of an hour later and Chandler, trying to lean as nonchalantly as he could by the bonnet of his car, saw Joanna Lucas walk slowly down the dirt track from the highway to Marshall, trying not to notice her wiping at her eyes with one hand. As she got to the store a hundred yards from the van, she glanced in the direction of the Robertsons' open door, before walking past it and it took her til she was nearly at the steps of her van to realise that Chandler was staring at her.

"Please come in," she said, when he smiled at her, but she did not smile back. Indeed, she didn't even offer him a drink when he followed her inside.

"Hey, you tidied up," he said, nodding around the interior of the trailer. Jo turned to look at him, slipping her work bag from her shoulder and, sitting down on a chair, moved her hand towards another.

"I'm sorry," Jo said, when Chandler had sat down as he wiped at her face again. "I'm just...missing my family, that's all."

"It's understandable," Chandler agreed, diplomatically. "Hey, I just came over here to say how disgusted I was that Samuels chose his buddy Nathan to promote over you. Not one mention of you – he gave it all to Daniels!"

"It's a team success," replied Joanna, looking back towards the man who had once been a friend to her, until she had found out the truth. "All projects are reported through the project manager – hey, one day maybe I will be that project manager." Chandler smiled, and then noticed that she was still holding her redundancy letter, its brown envelope still crunched into Jo's hand. She looked where he was looking, and then back to him. There was a long pause.

"Look, I'm sorry to hear you won't be working here next year. Will you be going before Christmas? At least you'll see your family?" Jo frowned, letting go of the brown envelope onto the table.

"I'm here til January as before; I've not lost my job, Chandler."

"But..."

"My position was only temporary – this is just a waste of trees that personnel sent out telling me what I already knew. I'm just going to be here, finishing up on any training. Continental have paused the merger. But it won't matter too much to me; I'll be able to apply for the job in Southport. Houses are cheaper there; I'll be nearer - " she broke off, looking down, " - nearer where I need to be to keep everything together."

"At least - " Chandler began, but then saw tears in Jo's eyes.

"I'm sorry," she said again. "I just got off the phone to my boys. I'll miss them, work will keep my mind off it."

"You're staying here over the holidays?" Jo nodded, wiping her face again. And then Chandler noticed something, on the shelf behind her, that ran along the wall into the kitchenette. His eyes lit up as he got up and got it, placing it down in front of her.

"You've not opened your gift, Joanna."

"No," she admitted., ignoring the present. "I was angry with you. I still am." She looked away. "And besides, I don't heave anything for you."

"But that doesn't matter. Besides, I go to New York in a coupla hours – do you think - " he broke off, his face transmitting self-satisfaction at an idea he had had. Or rather, he had had it once before but now, it seemed like the right time to ask her.

"I need someone to stay at my place, you know, keep it tidy while I'm gone?"

Instead of the annoyance at Chandler's voicing of such a thinly-veiled attempt to pack up here, Jo smiled back, touching the back of his hand.

"You're kind, Chandler, you really are. I had a feeling you were going to ask me to stay at your place the last time you came over."

"Oh yeah?"

"Well, I had the same thought. I came up to see you that day to propose I paid rent to you, so I could give up this dive of a place. But, I suppose none of that matters now."

"Joanna," said Chandler carefully. "May I just apologise once and for all for my insensitive nature? I never meant to cause you any offence."

"It's in the past, Chandler," replied Jo, smiling again, lines round her red-rimmed eyes crinkling.

"Okay then, OK," Chandler concluded, "then, can I ask you to do something for me?" He took the gift off the table and placed it into her hand. "Just...undo it?" Without replying, Jo nodded slowly, pulling at the green ribbon and then lifting the gold glitter lid off. When she saw what was inside, her eyes widened in shock.

"It's..." she looked at Chandler, then back at the ticket to London, not knowing quite what to say. "It's..."

"Its your way of getting to see your family," he said, smiling and nodding to her. "I have a friend in the city who is an acting consultant and has to be in London for the holidays. The ticket would go to waste otherwise," Chandler added, trying to sound nonchalant. But Joanna had already put it back in the box and slit it overt to him.

"It's...I mean, it's a lovely thought, Chandler, it really is," she concluded, folding her arms. "Your friend is very generous, and you are very kind. It's a real pity I won't be able to use it." She took up the seasonally-decorated by and pressed it back into his hand."

"I barely know you, Chandler Bing," she added, feeling the need to justify what she had done.

"Well, Jo, I feel like I know you. I saw quite a but more than a colleague ought when you tumbled over my bag when you stopped last. Your calves," he added, his joke falling flat. "And there's one thing I do know," he replied, taking the box and then, jumping up and taking her bag off the floor. "You ain't stay here!"

"But...!"

"Stay at my place, Jo, like we both thought was a good idea. I won't be there to make fun of you, or anything at all – I'm driving twenty six hours to New York soon. But there's security, and a bar if you want Coke."

"But..." she followed Chandler out of her still broken-in front door. "...I don't think..."

"Come on, it would make me feel better."

Joanna stared at him. She hated Marshall, and having to stay there; the van seemed OK when she had got there in late September. But now, she was lucky to get hot water and she was getting accustomed to the condesation settling on everything overnight in the van before she could get any heat from the elderly storage heater.

"OK," she nodded, feeling her inner will crumble. "OK, Chandler. I will. Just..." she ran her fingers through her hair, thinking vaguely about how good it would be to wash it properly. "Do you have to get off right now? I just need to get some things."

.An hour later and the pale-painted complex building loomed into view from the highway. Chandler pulled into a space near the door through which they had gone when he had invited her to celebrate with him, and where she had stopped over, in an armchair, after talking with him for hours.

"I got your bag," said Chandler, who had jumped out of the car and extracted it from the boot. "And your other one." It was heavy, and Jo resisted the urge to offer to carry it – it was clear by the way he was striding towards the door that he intended to be gentleman about it, unlike the last time when he had underestimated its weight and she had taken it off him and she smiled to herself. He was a good man, it seemed, a little awkward. He made her laugh.

"Anyway, there's a spare key over in the counter drawer," concluded Chandler, when they had got inside and he had put her bags down awkwardly, and Joanna suppressed the urge to laugh at his efforts. "There's plentya things in the freezer. Shop at the back of the complex'll be open tomorrow morning. You know where the TV is, and the bathroom. I couldn't be bothered to unmake the put-you-up, so..." he trailed off, as Jo smiled at his verbal tour.

"I knew America was large," said Jo, "but I never realised just how big. I mean, twenty six hours to drive to New York? We're never more than about three hours from the sea at any one time. It's about fifteen, all in all, from Lands' End to John O'Groats!"

Chandler was about to ask what she meant, but instead just said, "Yeah. There's some good roads 'cross to Illinois and then down to Pennsylvania. I may meet some traffic round Chicago, but...it'll all be good. I miss the city."

" I went there once, I was a teenager. It was 1994. Mum came into some money and we all went, my dad, my sister. I never appreciated any of it. We stopped in the lobby of one of the twin towers once, I remember, we were on a bus tour. What a devastating thing to have happened."

"Terrorists!" declared Chandler. "Wrecking our country, and for what? We aint gonna be frightened by a buncha them, let me tell you." Then, his tone softened a little, and added, "the memorial is something else, you know? Somewhere at peace, somewhere quiet."

"It was the day the face of terrorism changed in Britain," Jo replied, her own memories now alight. "Irish terrorists were replaced by Muslim ones. I remember the face of a boy, James Parry, on a newspaper, I rememeber, he was my age, he'd gone to Manchester to buy some football boots and never came home. Manchester bomb. But then, after nine-eleven, that all changed. We've had no Irish bombs in our country – they were replaced by extreme Islamist ones instead. It changes nothing, terrorism, it changes no political decisions whatsoever. Brexit might, though. The pen really is mightier than the sword."

"Yeah, if you stab someone really hard with it," said Chandler, his joke lightening the mood. "Look, Jo, why don't you come with me?" He looked at her earnestly, his face alive with excitement.

"What?"

"Come to NY with me. I was planning to stay down town, but my son called and we arranged for me to stop there – his roommate is my friend who's going to London – who's spare ticket this was. Me and Jack can share; you can have the a room...it'll be fun. And, if you change your mind about the ticket, I still have it."

For a good few minutes Jo didn't know what to say. An hour and a half ago she had just got off the phone to her family, her heart feeling as if it was going to break. And now, not only had she had the offer of a better place to stay, but now a trip to what her mum had one told her was the most beautiful city on earth. Jo's mind desperately fought for something to say – for anything to say that would be reasonable. But, with her new friend eroding her willpower, she was out of reasons.

"Yes yes, Chandler, OK. I'll come to to New York with you."

"And, if you change your mind about the ticket, I still have it," he said, picking up her bags again, staggering a little and then letting Jo take one of them.

"Let me keep my work things here," she said. "I wouldn't want them lost."

"Okay then," said Chandler, picking up the lighter one, of her luggage. The apartment door closed behind Jo as she followed Chandler back out to his car again.

Throwing her bag into the boot next to his, Chandler held the door open for her and Jo got in.

"Anyway, you're doing me a big favour. Twenty six hours alone is pretty dull. There's only so much of "The Jam" you can listen to."

"The Jam?" asked Jo, as he reversed out of the parking space, then, putting it into gear, drove back onto the highway. She'd forgot about his Eighties obsession.

"Or the Police?" he offered, putting the Ford into fifth.

"Either, Chandler Bing," Jo replied, closing her eyes for a moment. "Either are OK," she nodded, feeling a warmth in her chest that she couldn't place, and cared even less to wonder why it was there.

"OK then," Chandler replied, skipping the stereo to, "Roxanne."

OK, confirmed Jo to herself, as Sting's voice filled the car. It would be OK.


	6. Chapter 6

"Son!"

On the street outside Jack Bing's apartment Chandler pulled the young man close, clapping him on the back.

"So good to see you," he said, stifling a yawn as he looked at Jack, noticing the lack of sleep, and hyperactivity. Clearly his part in the play was going well – the boy had never done anything by halves – if he was going to be Harry Potter's son's friend on Broadway then he will have thrown himself into it, all. How like Monica he was, in that respect: Chandler had often wondered how much bringing up a child had to do with nurture because he sure didn't get it from her genetically.

"How was the trip, Dad?" asked Jack, taking his father's luggage. "You're staying with me, right? No stopping at a hotel, like you said?"

"No stopping at a hotel," said Chandler smiling, closing his door as a yellow cab blasted its horn in his direction. "Alright," he conceded, pointing at the door with his finger, indicating it was closed now and not open in the cab's path.

"So, er, how about we grab a bite to eat, and then we get some sleep before grandpa and grandma's? Or, do you need a rest first?" he asked, empathetically. "It's been a long trip, hasn't it?"

"Yeah," agreed Chandler, "26 hours is a long trip. And the traffic in Philadelphia was unbelievable. We'd appreciate a rest."

There was a pause.

"We?" A breeze dashed between them, tickling autumn leaves into the air. Chandler glanced at his Ford.

"I've brought someone with me, God she needed a break. I hope you don't mind – what with Joey off to London, I thought we could share." Jack stared past his dad then, bending his knees looked through the car's windows at Joanna Lucas.

"A woman?" asked Jack, his voice steady. "You are going to grandpa's and grandma's for Christmas with us, aren't you?"

"Just try and stop me," Chandler replied, trying to hide his insincerity. "It'll be great to relax with everyone, and..." he broke off and yawned. "A bit of shut-eye for a few hours and yeah, I'll come down to the Village with you."

"And her?"

"Her" had got out of the car. She was immediately beeped by a cab which she had almost opened the door onto, and waked hurriedly round the back of the car.

"Jack, is it?" Joanna held out her hand towards the astonished face of Chandler's son, who proceeded to look even more amazed when she had spoken to him.

"You're English?" Jack asked, then gave a wide-eyed gawp to this father, hissing, "_the _English? You brought the English? I thought she was goin' a London, not coming with you here?"

"Well..." began Chandler.

"I'm Joanna, pleased to meet you." She held out her hand as Chandler lapsed into silence. "Your father tells me you are an actor, and that you're in Harry Potter. You must be an extremely good actor"

"I am indeed," replied Jack, before clarifying, "I'm in the play. I may be a good actor; that's for the critics to establish. So," he said, handing Chandler his bag back, and taking up Jo's, possibly in the expectation that it was lighter. It wasn't.

"So, you work for my dad?" said Jack, as Chandler "blipped" the car to lock it before leading the well-trodden path between the bistro and the barbers which took them to the door for the apartment block's front door.

"I work_ with_ your dad; I'm an engineer," Jo replied. "I work for the shale gas and oil company that Continental are buying. I'm here on work experience.

"Work experience?"

"To be project manager," she replied. "I'm site deputy at the moment."

"That sounds good," Jack replied vaguely, ignoring his father's head-shaking at his obvious real lack of interest but keeping the conversation going out of politeness.

Buzzing to get in, Jack expected Joey to be in and answer for them, but, when there was no answer, he put Jo's bag on the floor before typing the apartment's key-code number into the keypad, pausing longer than was strictly necessary before reaching for Jo's bag again. It wasn't there: Jo had picked it up quickly, saying a quick, "thank you" to Jack in acknowledgement for his struggle along the footpath.

"It's three floors up," Jack continued. "And we are going to my grandparents' house tomorrow. What're you going to do to keep yourself busy on Christmas Day?" he asked, pointedly.

"Jo is happy to stay here, as long as you are happy to have her. The accommodation she was living in became too unsafe to remain there." Jo nodded her head in agreement.

"But I can easily stay somewhere else if it's too much trouble," Jo added.

When it looked as if Jack was going to take the conversation towards discussing alternative arrangements, Chandler said, "yes, Jack and I are at the Gellers'. Til the day after Christmas. But, I know you will want to see the sights, won't you?" Heavy-heartedly, Joanna nodded, wondering for the first time whether she was wrong to have come with Chandler from Marshall – his son seemed, well, if not hostile, uncertain about her.

It _had _been a long drive from Marshall. Seven states and over a thousand miles of highway had made her realise the vastness of the country. At first, she had been thrilled every time they had crossed a state boarder, which had amused Chandler. Then, she had drifted off to sleep, despite "Spandau Ballet" being played rather loudly on the CD player, waking up a hundred miles later at a gas station where Chandler had filled up.

She had peered through the window as she watched him, fill up with very cheap fuel (compared to what she was used to anyway) and decided to get something for them both to eat – sandwiches and crisps (or chips, rather,) from the gas station's shop, and some bottles of mineral water, Coke and coffee.

Feeling more than a little guilty as he continued to drive through the night, they kept one another amused with driving games, betting make-believe dollars on the next colour of the car that would drive by them; she had perked up when a "Simon and Garfunkel" song came on the radio, and talked about the cassette tape she had had at university which she had played until both sides could be heard at the same time, telling him she had wondered about "Sagenaw" and "the cars on the New Jersey turnpike", wondering if that was where they would be driving through (it turned out they wouldn't),until they had headed into semi-personal questions.

Chandler had told her about his family, how he and Monica had adopted the twins when she found out she couldn't have them. How they had had an idyllic marriage in the suburbs until Jack and Erica had turned nine, at which point Monica, who was about to break out with a chain of restaurants went bankrupt just as he had accepted a job as a systems manager at Microsoft.

Believing their marriage could survive being apart, Chandler had gone from New York to Los Angeles to work with the company, but the only legacy of that job had been his claim to fame: the search engine he had worked on had been named after him.

"What, Chandler?" Jo had quipped.

"Very funny," he'd replied. "No, Bing search engine. They thought my name was funny. Coulda bin worse, I coulda been Chandler Google."

And so, when he had returned to New York, he realised they couldn't resurrect their marriage – too much time had passed; he had not realised the full extent the collapse of Monica's businesses had been and, with only her less than understanding family to support her, she had sunk into a deep depression, to which Chandler's response had been to accept the Continental job in Louisiana.

"A far cry from being a statistical analyst in data reconfiguration," he had said, at length. "But there is nothing I would not do to have fixed this with Monica."

"You can't?" Jo had asked. "Marriages have survived worse than that."

"Didn't I just tell you how much of a coward I was? I refused to face up to the difficulties she was going through, not only practically, but emotionally. We have several very close friends, but even they were not around: Phoebe and Mike had moved with little Lily to Toronto; Ross, Rachel and Emma had gone to LA; she was left with her parents, who always waited for her to fail to kick her down even further, and worst of all, she didn't have me to help her. I was going through...problems. So she filed for divorce and, like a fool, I signed it."

The story sat between them for a few minutes, as Joanna heard it all again through her mind as cars raced past them.

"Do you…" Jo broke off, semi-personal questions heading as they were very quickly to the personal.

"Do I what? Still love her?"

"Yes?"

"Yes."

There had been silence after this, and Jo had asked no more. Marriages were difficult, and she had been glad he had not asked her about the one she had had. Instead, as they travelled towards where dawn was slowly breaking, she reflected on this big, open, wild, beautiful country, the offspring of her small, beautiful, geographically diverse country. And yet, for all its beauty, the vastness of America always took her breath away.

Number 20 was soon in front of them, and Jo's brain, slipping back to the here-and-now caught on to Chandler's words of, "well, I hope you tidied, my boy," as Jack slipped the key into the lock.

"And I did, Dad, yeah," he said, as Chandler held the door open for her. "Just put it anywhere," he said, as he looked around. "A coffee would be great," he added, throwing himself onto the sofa. Then, looking at Jo, who was still standing near the door, said, "come, sit down, Joanna Lucas. The chairs are the same – good to know some things don't - "

"Joanna Lucas!" declared a voice coming out of the bathroom. The voice was soon followed by its owner, a man, well-toned and clearly into his looks, wrapped in a towel. He strode over to Jo and out out a hand. Jo hoped he had a good grip of the towel. "How you doin;?"

"Well..." began Jo, taken aback. Chandler, from the chair, rolled his eyes.

"Joey, this is Joanna Lucas, a work colleague."

"I know!" he said, "Joanna Lucas. 10th May 1977..." Then, noting his friend's face, fell silent as he realised he knew a little too much than he ought of a person he had only just met.

"Lucky guess," he added, a little sheepishly. "Chandler's told me so much about you – you're coming with me to London, aren't you?"

"Well, actually, er..." Joanna began, glancing at Chandler. So, this was the friend with the spare ticket to London. He seemed friendly enough, if a little odd.

"Oh yeah, Joey," said Jack, placing the coffee next to his dad on the table. "You ought to go, Joanna – it beats sitting around here on your own for two days while Dad and I go to grandma's."

"Well," said Jo again, wondering what _to_ say next.

"I go in a coupla hours," said Joey, nodding to Chandler. "Hey, I thought we could get a coffee down at Cafe Perk – I hear Gunther's back from Thailand, and he's got himself a wife..."

"Not a Thai bride?!" declared Chandler, slapping his thigh in amusement. "Now this I gotta see. Jo?" he asked, looking at Joanna.

"Yo!" said Joey, now on his way to his room.

"No, I meant Joanna," said Chandler, to his ex-roommate.

"Oh," said Joey. "Jo, Joe...both very similar."

Joanna left her bag by the counter and, without waiting for Jack to invite her to sit down, as there was a good possibility that he wouldn't, sat on the settee next to him.

"Jo, it's up to you. You can stay here and have a rest, watch some TV. Or come downtown with us to the coffee house." Jo paused. Much as she would have liked to stay with Chandler and see the sights, a rest and a close of her eyes would be much welcome – she didn't know how Chandler could do that, having spent close to two days awake, go out, just like that.

Just then, Joey came back out of his room, now dressed in smart jeans and a polo shirt.

"Ready to go?"

"You betcha," said Chandler, getting up. "You coming, Joanna?" Jo shook her head.

"That really took it out of me, that drive, and I wasn't even behind the wheel. I could do with a rest."

"Here, have this," said Chandler, handing her his untouched coffee. "There'll be plenty of Christmas movies on cable. Here, I'll put it on for you." Seconds later, "Home Alone" appeared on the screen, the film had got as far as where Kevin sets up his house to trap the burglars.

"Aw, man," said Jack, "now you know it's Christmas when Kevin's "Home Alone"."

"I'll stay," nodded Joanna again. As Chandler and Joey said their goodbyes, promising not to be out too long, Jo closed her eyes, Kevin's antics, for once, being missed as Joanna drifted off to sleep.

88888888

"Thanks, Gunther," said Jack, tucking his wallet into his trouser pocket, before sitting down on the large orange sofa.

"My God, if this sofa could talk," said Joey, putting his hands over its upholstery.

"Yeah, it would say," please re-cover me, I am over twenty years old. People keep putting their butt on me. Thanks," he added, nodding to Gunther, who was bringing over their drinks.

"No, I mean, all the great times we've had here," he clarified, nodding around him. "D'you remember, when we first met Rachel and she had run away from her wedding?"

"Yeah," replied Chandler. "I remember not remembering who she was, man, she really had changed."

"Enough about that, what's with this Jo chick?" Joey folded one leg resting his ankle on his knee. Chandler, coffee in hand, paused mid-sip.

"Firstly, she's not a chick. Secondly, I felt sorry for her – and, for your information, she hadn't wanted to come."

"Well, isn't that kinda why you asked for the ticket from Uncle Joey?" asked Jack, his pale eyes glimmering coldly. "We thought she was goin' and now you tell us she's not? What's she gonna do tomorrow? She can't come to grandpa and grandma's." Chandler looked over to his son's cross face. "We thought she was going with Joey."

"Well, who knows," said Chandler. "I invited her; I have her ticket. Look," he said, putting down his cup. "I feel sorry for her; I was mean to her. 'Tis the season for goodwill to all men and all."

"Well done, you rescued her, Dad. Is she going with Uncle Joey or not?" Jack demanded.

"She didn't say, son," replied Chandler, picking up his coffee again. "And, I would ask you to mind your attitude; she is old enough to be your mother."

"C'mon, drink up," said Joey, suddenly, though they had only got there a quarter of an hour ago. "Gotta go if we're gettin' to the airport - if she's coming with me then we gotta go back and get her."

"Mom is going to be there tomorrow, with Erica," said Jack, conversationally, as Joey held his hand out for a cab.

"Well, of course she is," said Chandler, as his son got in first, and he squeezed in next to him, Joey taking the front seat.

"And Uncle Ross, Aunt Rachel and Emma. Bet they'll be filming for their channel; I'm so busy with my rehearsals I haven't had a chance this week. Man, I wish I was going with you, Uncle Joey," he added, "though I am so glad to actually have rehearsals for something real."

"Don't look a gift horse in the mouth," Joey replied, his tone short, though educational. "It took me years to get my big break after "Days of Our Lives."

They drove up from Fourth through to First, the cab taking a short cut to the Upper East Side. Ross? Rachel? Emma? Thought Chandler, as the Christmas lights twinkled outside. He could have borne it with just them, his family, but if course the Gellers were Ross's parents too and they would be in their element with all of their grandchildren together.

His mind drifted to...that time...but he fought his mind to open the box of thoughts, that had been ten years ago and things were different now.

As they got to the third floor, Jack, with his hand on the knob, turned it, but didn't step into his apartment straight away.

"Sh, listen," he said, as he held onto the door. "She's on the phone..."

"...all was quiet in the deep, dark wood. The mouse found a nut, and the nut looked good..." There was a pause, then, "I love you so much, Tim-tim," they heard her say. Then, there was nothing. Joey and Chandler looked at one another, Chandler catching his son's hand as Jack was about to open the door.

"Sh!" he said, before jangling his keys over-loudly, and putting them in the lock, before moving his hand in a gesture which told his son that now was the time to come in.

"Hi," said Jo, her phone to her chest. She had been woken up by the call half an hour ago – it had been her sister who had told her that the boys needed to talk to them, as it was now their bedtime, and she had spoken first to James, wishing him love and telling him that Father Christmas was sending his present in the post, only to be told by her eldest that he knew it was mums and dads who gave children presents at Christmas, but not to worry, he wouldn't tell Timothy. She had then had an excited Timothy on the telephone telling her about the Christmas railway ride they had had that day, and asking whether he would see her soon.

A light, as if an answer, clear as day, had then radiated in her head, and a thought had become clearer and clearer in her mind as she recited "The Gruffalo" to her second-born, a story that he loved so much she knew it by heart. She would call Francesca back later and tell her sister the good news. That is, if the offer was still open.

"May I talk to you, Chandler?" she asked, as they came in. Jack, who glared at her for a moment, walked into his room and closed the door loudly.

"Yeah? How've you been?" As Joey made into his room as well, saying something about his bags for his trip, Joanna had smiled at him.

"Thank you for the kind offer to stay," said Jo, her voice low, "may I ask, is the offer of the ticket still on?"

"To go to London?" asked Chandler, feeling his stomach tighten.

"Yes. I feel stupid having said no," she explained. "If I can do anything for my boys this Christmas it is to be with them, considering the circumstances."

"Oh, yeah, sure," said Chandler, his voice a little hollow. "The circumstances?"

"Being so far away from them," she explained quickly. "I've had that bonus from Mr. Samuels paid already. At least that's something for my work."

"Something?" said Chandler, disgusted. "You should have been up there, Jo, being praised for your discovery, not Nathan Daniels."

"I'd have been too shy," she replied. "It wasn't my place, full of company people. I'm an outsider, which doesn't matter. I can give Joey the money for the airline ticket." She smiled again, but this time, Chandler frowned, folding his arms.

"I think he'd say "no"," he replied. "But if you wanna offer. " Then he frowned again. "You're coming back though, right?"

"Yes, of course. I've got five weeks to do in North Dakota."

"Okay then," said Chandler, feeling his heart beating a little faster. He was happy that she was going but, on the drive over to the city was rather getting used to the idea that she was staying – he could show her round the city, do some of the things tourists liked to do.

"That's it," said Joey, striding out of his room, a wheeled suitcase behind him. "I'm gonna get a cab to JFK," he said, patting Chandler on the shoulder. "My God, this is gonna be one hell of a trip, I mean, London? The West End? To consult on the "Cursed Child"?"

"I can't wait til you tell me," Chandler replied. "Hey. Joe, can I have a word?" Joey raised his eyebrows, looked at Joanna, then back to his friend.

"Oh, you meant me?" he asked. "OK, man, what's up?"

"Is it OK with you that Joanna comes with you to London with your spare ticket? I mean, you've not promised it to anyone else?"

"No, I haven't. Yeah, she can come." He brightened, smiling across to Jo. "So it's settled? You're coming to London after all, babydoll?"

"You bet I am!" Joanna replied, in her best Brooklyn accent.

"Hey," said Joey, smiling at Chandler's friend. "That's pretty good – where did you learn that? Did you go to acting school?"

"No, I went to University to study engineering," Jo replied, in her normal voice. "I just pick these up – just a party piece, I suppose."

"Great, great," said Joey. Can you do any more? Maybe you can help Jack with an English accent for the play he's in."

Chandler left Joey and Jo talking about accents as he went across to Jack's door. Knocking, he waited until his son answered, and told him the change in arrangements, or rather, that the original arrangements were in place.

"Hey, I can drive them there," said Jack, grinning at his Dad. "Can I take your car, Dad? Aunt Phoebe's old cab needs a clean inside; I don't think anyone would like to take a ride in that anytime soon."

"Scottish," guessed Joey, as Chandler and Jack crossed over to them.

"Wrong," said Joanna. "This is Scottish," she said, in a Galloway accent, "or this – this is Edinburgh," she added. "And, do you know this?" Joey thought for a moment.

"Irish?"

"Welsh," said Joanna, smiling, having done her retinue of Yorkshire, Somerset, Cornwall, Liverpool and Cockney.

"Where's Welsh?" asked Joey, puzzled.

"Wales is the country next to England," Joanna said, nodding as Chandler thumbed towards the door, indicating they were to go.

"A country next to England?" asked Joey, as Jack closed the door to apartment number 20.

"Yeah. It has it's own language."

"A country NEXT to England," repeated Joey, as they descended the stairs. "With it's own language." He stopped on the floor below, and looked at Chandler. "Did you know about this?" Chandler laughed, and nodded.

"Not about the language part, but I've heard of Wales, Joey."

"Oes, diloch," said Joanna, although "yes, thank you" is about all I know.

"Wow," said Joey, shaking his head as they got to the lobby. "A whole other country, with a whole other language. Do you think I need to learn it before going to London?"

"People in Wales speak English," said Joanna, laughing as Chandler took her bag, opening the boot, and swinging it in.

"OK that's a relief," said Joey, getting in the front. "A whole other country next to England with it's whole other language!"

"Hey, Joanna, did I explain that Joey Tribbiani was an excellent actor and stage consultant?"

88888888

It took them an hour and a half to get to the drop-off point at JFK airport. Seeing as it was Christmas Eve, there was a corresponding amount of traffic, people and busyness. Jack waited in the car as Joey, Joanna and Chandler got out of the car.

The airport forecourt was busy. Planes flying overhead added to the bustle, and Joey's case was almost knocked out of his hand.

"Look, we can't stop long – some bastard will ticket us if we're any longer than ten minutes; they're like African lions waiting for the kill."

"Well," said Joey, stepping towards Chandler, drawing him in and giving him a pat on the back. "I gotta say, I wish it were you who was comin'. I'm sure Joanna will be as good company," he added, smiling over his shoulder. In the darkness, Jo could feel herself pink.

"Yes, thank you, Chandler," Joanna echoed, as Joey stepped back. "I am glad you kept that ticket for me. Thank you." She was about to hug him too when the phone in her pocket began to vibrate. Putting her hand down to her jeans, she looked up at him. "Sorry," she said. "That'll be my sister. Better call her back in a minute, tell her to set an extra place for dinner tomorrow." Jo took out her phone and switched it off, then stowed it away.

"I hope you have a good time tomorrow, too," she added, quickly. "Nothing better than Christmas with your family."

"Indeed," nodded Chandler, swallowing down the words he would like to have chosen to describe what he thought tomorrow would be like. "Well, take care, English," he said, taking a step back, "I hear that London's knife crime is getting worse."

"Says the man from New York!" Jo replied, grinning.

"Hey, I'll have you know the old city's cleaned up its act. No crime here."

"Only the crime of missing our flight if we don't get a move on!" called Joey, who had gone twenty yards towards the entrance of JFK airport before realising Joanna wasn't following him.

"Thank you Chandler, you're a very decent human being after all. I'm sorry I said you weren't."

"Enjoy your Christmas," he said. He leaned in to kiss her on the cheek but, just at that moment Joanna turned to pick up her bag, and he kissed the cold night air, where she had once been, instead.

"Thank you," she said again, folding her hand around his left arm and squeezing a little. "You're a good friend, Chandler."

"Yeah man," said Joey, who had come over, taking her bag and holding it with his suitcase. "Take it easy at the Gellers, y'know?"

Chandler watched for a moment as they went towards the building before jumping back in the his car with Jack. His son pulled into the queue of vehicles waiting to filter in to the airport's main road and Chandler looked back at he airport building for a moment, as his friend - his friends - left for London. Then, as his son managed to find a space and pull off, Chandler Bing began to steel his mind for Christmas Day.


	7. Chapter 7

The day had begun so well. Having arrived at his ex-wife's family's house on Long Island late the night before, his son hurrying him out of the apartment and across the George Washington Bridge into the state, he had been welcomed, offered hospitality, coffee and a comfortable bed, sharing with Jack.

That had been good – he had been anxious about the evening, and the welcome he was going to receive, based on their last meeting at Ben and Adrienne's wedding which had been less than amicable.

He couldn't blame them. If any man had treated Erica like that or, if he had a sister, betrayed her trust, there would probably have been little difference in Jack Geller's or Ross' anger and aggression towards him. But, that night, as he brought their grandson with him (or rather Jack had brought his father) from an outsiders' point of view, it seemed like any other Christmas Eve – they had been welcomed; they had been fed and conversation had flowed, asking him about his job, asking him about his health. Nothing negative about his past mistakes had been discussed or thrown in his face, a vast change from Ben's reception night.

But, that had been last night. Now, almost a whole twenty-four hours had gone by and, to say that a prevailing climate of hostility now hung between him and Mr. and Mrs. Geller senior, as well as their eldest son, would have been something of an understatement.

The day had begun superbly. He had woken to the sound of Jack rummaging through his bag for his toiletries, calling through to his sister and cousin that he would be there in a minute. The E's had been finishing a Christmas morning YouTube filming while Jack had collaborated with his own version of subtle make-up, before all three of them loaded their finished edit onto their respective channels.

Ross and Rachel had greeted him and offered him an orange juice, and Monica had beamed at him, then to their children, wishing them all a very Merry Christmas before entering her mother's kitchen and taking over the cooking for the day. Then, the morning had been spent exchanging presents while Ben and Adrienne announced their big news – the Gellers senior were going to be great-grandparents. They had all chatted amicably; affection had been shared and future plans discussed: Ben and Adrienne were living with her parents while they saved up for a house and they planned to stay there til they had saved enough money to move out, with Adrienne assuring her parents'- and grandparents'-in-law that her mother and father had said that they expected them to come over as if Ben and Adrienne had their own place, such was intent on making sure that no-one was excluded.

Yes, all that had gone swimmingly. Now, sitting out on the garden bench as loud arguing could still be heard indoors, Chandler Bing leaned back, looking up at the clear, night's sky and wishing he knew some more constellations than the none he already knew.

What had caused the bickering, shouting and opening up of old wounds, he was trying to put his finger on. Had it been the mention of Christmases past? Was it the reminiscing of their Christmases when the children had been small, in relation to Ben and Adrienne's news?

"No, not told mom and Susan yet," Ben had confirmed as Ross had grinned at the small victory from an ancient grudge.

He was quite sure they were all still amicable at the turkey and cranberry-sauce course, but definitely, definitely by the time it had come to dessert words, deep, unkind and painful were being thrown about, friendly-fire being sustained on both sides while incendiaries exploded around Chandler, who was a little too slow on the uptake, and definitely too sober to handle it.

In fact, it had been exactly his sobriety, or incidences of the lack of such condition by him in the past that had caused at least one missile to be thrown, and from his ex-best friend, too. Ross had been incandescent, and it wasn't just from the champagne he had been drinking to celebrate his own son's impending fatherhood.

Looking up to the blackness, Chandler folded his arms, and legs at the ankle as he heard Monica scream at her mother. Ben and Adrienne had, an hour before, made their excuses and left. Jack had, as was his way, sprung to his mother's defence but had not challenged his grandmother, who was still busy arguing with her daughter. Emma and Erica had excused themselves back into their room, purporting to be using Erica's new digital camera and wanted to tag something on the end of their video. Or so they had said, at least.

And so, when he realised he was in the middle of a conversation which was unwinnable, but then choosing to be the sacrificial lamb on the pyre of self-righteous, not-now-so-very-sober in-laws choosing his failings to be the cause of everything being wrong in the family, in the neighbourhood, in the country. Probably in the universe if Judy Geller had come out just them and looked up to the beautiful stars.

It had been a far cry from he and Monica's meeting. She had arrived early that morning with the E's and they had talked between themselves outside, practical, non-provoctove questions. Questions about each others' health, and had they known about Jack's part in "The Cursed Child". Questions about Erica's taxable income now that she and Emma were making so much. Now, the only thing that felt cursed was himself and he would pay Erica's tax bill himself right now if only people would stop arguing.

"Are you still off the wagon?" he remembered Jack Geller saying to him as he served him a slice of turkey.

"It's on the wagon, dad," said Monica, and her father had snapped back a quick, "I know what I mean," reply.

"I am," said Chandler, who was getting used to his past indiscretions being discussed. "But, after a lot of help, Mr. Geller, I can see now that alcohol was not going to solve my -" he saw Monica'a mouth shape the word, "our", " - _our _problems."

"_Your _problems, Chandler, dear; Monica did nothing wrong," interjected Judy, cutting up her turkey.

"Well, that's not what you said when I turned to you," retorted Monica, throwing down her fork, glancing around to her children, before looking at her plate.

And so, it had continued. Chandler's mistakes had been the fuel for that Christmas's family fight. When he realised that he had not actually been needed in it Chandler had got up and gone outside, his part, seemingly done. Had he known that his presence would have caused this, he might have gone with Joey after all. But that would have meant depriving Joanna, although he could have bought a third...

Joanna. Was she having a good time with her family? They would have landed in the early hours of the morning US time, which would have been late morning in London. By the evening, though, she would have been able to get up to where she needed to be, no doubt, and seen her family. Let's hope she was having a better time of it than the Gellers, although to Chandler, Christmas wouldn't be Christmas without any fighting.

It was only when Monica sat down next to Chandler that his mind shifted from Joanna Lucas to his ex-wife. She leaned against his arm, as she used to do when they were first going out, and looked up the stars. Automatically, Chandler kissed her on top of her head.

"How many do you know?" Monica asked, looking heavenward. "I used to know about a half-dozen..." she craned her head around, searching.

"Constellations?!" Chandler replied confidently. "You wanna know how many constellations I know?"

"Yeah?" asked Monica, turning to look at him.

"None!" he declared, laughing to himself. "Not one. They're just suns billions of miles away. Although..." he pointed to Orion. "That one looks like a man with his penis out."

"Orion" replied Monica, pointing up.

"Well, Ryan he might be, I think he still looks indecent...and they teach astronomy to kids!" Chandler lapsed into silence too, when he realised Monica was silent.

"I wish I had never been the cause of that," he said, at length, coming straight out with it. "If I could go back in a time machine to fix all what I did back then, you know I would."

"Yes, Chandler," said Monica, quietly. "I know you would. We all made some mistakes we were not proud of. That wasn't really caused by you," she waved her hand towards the now drawn-curtained conservatory windows. "It's me, it always is. Never living up to Mom's expectations. I dared to defend you tonight, but if it wasn't that it would have been something else; the twins...my business; meeting Riii..."

"Riii...?"

"Nothing." She looked at him, then glanced towards the house. "Well, actually, something. I've been kinda wanting to talk to you bout a coupla things. But I don't think today is the right time to discuss it, not after all that."

"I'm sorry," said Chandler, taking her hand. "You know, if it helps, you could come back with me and Jack to the apartment. It would be a bit like the old days, but..."

"Oh, Chandler. That's awfully good of you to think about me. But, well...no. I wanna stay. She'll have calmed down in like an hour or so.

"Right..." Chandler lapsed into silence again.

"You got the maintenance for this month? It transferred into your bank properly? Cos I got it sorted out last time for Erica, when the bank messed up."

"Mh-hm," nodded Monica.

"It wasn't that?"

"No, Chandler," replied Monica, emphatically. "No, I mean..Erica got the money. And I think right around this time next year she'll be paying you maintenance, with the money she's making. No," she said, looking at him, "about you and me, Chandler, I wanted to ask you - "

But before Monica could say anything, the back conservatory doors were open, her mother holding them open.

"Chandler, your portable telephone is ringing. And Monica, you've missed a call. Is it alright I mention who, now you've had your little chat with your incompetent ex-husband, who we have always welcomed under our roof and then ruined your life by abandoning you and your two children?"

"Mom!" screamed Monica, getting up. She looked back at Chandler, who's face was frozen in a frown as he considered his ex-mother-in-law's words. "That's in the past!"

"So, tell me he hasn't drunk the vodka today?"

"It was by mistake! His was orange juice! How was he to know Rachel had put hers down right next to his?!"

"Well, you know what I said when you insisted he come today," said Judy Geller, raising her hands in mock-surrender at the argument. "Once a drug addict and alcoholic..."

"Ahhhhh!" Monica yelled to the door being closed by her mom, and she got to her feet, turning her back to the house, folding her arms and looking at the floor.

"She hasn't got past that, then," said Chandler, flatly. He knew what his mother-in-law was like, and now she had another reason to dislike him. But it seemed that what had caused the woman's anger was that it had been Monica who had invited him, rather than intrinsically his presence.

"Look, I'm just gonna go back to the city. I'll ask Jack if he wants to stay and get a cab back when he's finished having family time here."

"No, Chandler!" Monica clenched her fists and declared, "Man!"

"Come and sit down," he said, "and tell me what's bothering you."

"You really wanna know?"

"I really wanna know." He watched as the breeze from the temperate Christmas night's air tousled her hair as he waited to listen to his ex-wife.

"She's against me expanding; she thinks I can't do it on my own, take on the hotel-trade. She says I don't have enough experience, capital, business knowledge to do this."

"And, do you?"

"Yes! Or at least, were I don't, I have employed people. _Good_ people. It's working! It's a success! I came from Lexington last night and Zach Hegarty, my regional manager just won business in three separate states, one was Maryland! I could have my business, my food, served in Washington!"

"Well, that's great!" Chandler declared. "I'd call for a celebration but, it would be pointless, you have had far too much and I am having none at all. Except for the accidental one, which will make me the big bad wolf in your family til time immemorial." He looked back at Monica, taking her hand. "I am so pleased for you. All in five years – so successful, as I knew you would be."

She squeezed it back and, at once, Chandler felt that he was very far away, in the past, when it was only him and her, the times even before their friends knew and they would sneak off for walks, holding hands, hugging together.

"But, Dad," he heard a voice say, just behind them, "she would have gotten there a lot faster if it hadn't been for you."

"Jack!" scolded his mother, turning to her son. "How dare you speak to your dad like that!"

"No, it's OK," said Chandler. "I mean, not the way you're speaking, son," he added, "but, yeah, I know that." But Jack didn't hold his counsel. Instead, closing the conservatory door, he walked up the steps that were embedded in the garden, that led to the bench, staring at his father in the glow of the outside house light.

"Do you? Do you really? Do you know what it was like when me and Erica were kids, you always coming in late, sleeping in at a weekend and not coming to my soccer games, or Erica's gymnastics? You had a drinking problem long before mom lost her business, and she was supporting you, as well as taking care of us, as well as her business. Yes, I know you had that car accident, but you got addicted to those meds and you were awful to be around. Erica might not remember, but I do. It's no wonder mom lost her business. It's no wonder she had to come back here, and have grandma shout at her for being so stupid. And she's not stupid, despite what grandma says." And to his mother, added, "I wish you would just stand up to her, mom. She shouldn't say things like that to you."

"Yes, son," said Chandler slowly when Jack had finally got off his chest everything he wanted to say. "I am fully aware of the hurt and anger you all feel because of that time in my life. What is it you would like me to do in order to move on, eh? Can I _go_ back in time to fix it? No. Can I offer support to your mother now, and congratulate her on her success now? Yes."

"Yes, you always wanna be the knight in shining armour, dad," said Jack, bitterly. "You always go for women who aren't good enough for you – it's like you feel you don't deserve happiness. Mom," Jack turned to Monica. "Have you told him yet? Cos there's still time."

"Tell me?" asked Chandler, looking at Monica.

"Look, Jack," said Monica, approaching her son and putting her hands on his shoudlers before pulling him in for a hug. "This is my life now. Your dad and I call one another to discuss you, we will always be a part of each others' lives, because we were together for so long, and have you and Erica."

"Yeah," chipped in Chandler, "we do all we can to be as good parents as we can for you both, but for us, the ship has sailed."

"Sailed to England?" asked Jack slyly.

"England?" asked Monica, perpelexed.

"Flown, rather. The English prig who's gone with Joey "

"You have to be with the theatre next week for your play, Jack," reminded Chandler. "Joey knew that or he would have taken you."

"Who, er who's the English prig?" asked Monica, looking between Chandler and Jack.

"No-one. Look, this is a big mistake, Jack, hold your tongue young man!"

"I'm not eleven, Dad. Mom wants to tell you something."

"Yes but now's not the right time, Jack. Another time. Maybe at your New Years' party?" she added, trying to pacify her son.

"Yeah," he agreed, looking between his parents, before disappearing inside. Monica sat back down next to Chandler.

"So, Joey took a woman with him to London?"

"Mh-hm," replied Chandler, non-commitally, glancing back up to the stars again.

"And? She's dating Joey? She's dating _you_?"

"No!" snapped back Chandler, quickly. "She works with me. She's...she brings out a good side in me. She seems nice.

"And you call her a prig?" asked Monica.

"I once called her a prig," lied Chandler. "And it seems to have stuck. But she's not a prig, she's just..."

"...a very nice person," finished Monica, smiling. "Well, you seemed a different person when you came over last night - or rather, the same person I once knew."

"There's just something about her, you know, when we are in each other's company, it's fun. And I was mean to her before."

"Something sounds very familiar if you ask me," said Monica, mock-shaking her head to her ex-. "Like boys who like girls, and pull their hair and run away."

"Well," said Chandler, smiling and kissing her nose, "I wasn't asking you. What do you wanna ask me?"

"Not now," said Monica.

They hugged, and it could have been fourteen years ago.


	8. Chapter 8

"Hie, Joey, hi!"

At Heathrow Terminal 2, a different Joanna Lucas to the one who had accompanied Joseph Tribbiani, Stage Consultant from JFK six days before was calling to him, face bright, mouth in a grin as she finally caught up with her travelling companion.

It had been six days, six happy, effortless, tranquil days with her family: her two sons , her sister and mother. Having had flown out of New York on Christmas Eve, a flight which would take seven hours but, with the time difference meant that they would land at Heathrow five more hours onwards, which meant that they landed early on Christmas Day.

Joanna would be the first to admit that she had not been the best travelling companion out, exhausted as she had been from the car journey from North Dakota and, having the window seat, had nodded off against it for most of the trip.

Joey hadn't seemed to have minded: he had chatted with her a little, asking about the plans for the holidays before the in-flight movie took his attention. She had woken up when the plane was descending, having never taken off her belt, and was wide awake when the Boeing 747's wheels met the tarmac.

She had mislaid her bag on the way out, and Joey had helped her, challenging a man who had picked up a bag similar to hers, which turned out to be hers, and she had his. Jo was grateful, thanking Joey profusely, all the way to customs, which prompted him to ask what she had in there.

"Things for my sons," explained Jo, looking at her bag, a gesture which hid the look of shame and embarrassment that had come from this man she barely knew having helped her, when he had helped her so much already. "Chocolate, toys. Dinosaurs - \Timothy loves those. My work, which I need to have finished by the time we get back." Joey had then smiled at her, taking her heavy bag and carrying it to the entrance to Terminal 2.

"I'm off to find the subway; my hotel is in a street called, "Lye Sester Square." Jo chuckled as he pronounced "Leicester", and added, "Two Hundred and Sixty Pounds to buy it, Joey."

"Wh...what?"

"It's on the monopoly board," said Jo, to which Joey smiled.

"So, I guess I'll see you at four on the 30th?" he said, patting her on the shoulder. Jo had nodded and Joey suggested they swap numbers to make meeting up much easier.

And now, a Joanna who had been in the company of her loved ones, all of them, including the one lost to her, had rejuvenated her, making her feel like an embodiment of the season rather than Christmas feeling like a millstone, waved happily towards the equally happy Joey Tribbiani and he smiled at her broadly, asking, "How you doin;?"

"Very well," Jo had said. The flight had been delayed by half an hour so they went for a coffee at the airport's Starbucks.

"Hey, Joanna," Joey had called, when she had asked him to mind her bag when she went off to the toilet shortly afterwards, in a hurry as their flight had been called, for she had left her wallet on the table. On her return, Joey handed back Jo her money, warning her to be more careful.

"Thank you, Joey," she had said, before he did the gentlemanly thing again and hoisted her bag onto his shoulder.

"A little lighter this time," said Joey, smiling at Jo. "Did you dump the dead body?" She laughed.

"I left some things at home, yes," she said, "but I do have my work, and a present for Chandler. Nothing much but, well, I hope he likes it." Then, as they walked down the corridor before their gate, she asked, "does he like "Pink Floyd"?" to which Joey, after a moment's deliberation, considered that Chandler did like them.

It took what felt like only five hours to fly back what was essentially the opposite direction to the Earth. Dawn rose quickly as they went, and this time it was Joey who was tired, and slept on the way back.

Now, as they passed through customs and in through the arrivals gate, Jo had excused herself once more for a call of nature Joey called Chandler.

"How's it all gone, Joey?" Chandler asked immediately, and Joey had told him, how everything was much better than he had expected in London from the airport, and there was plenty of material to make sure the "Cursed Child" would be polished and up to standard."

"Did everything go alright with Joanna?" Chandler asked, eventually, which was greeted with pause just ever so slightly too long to just be part of the conversation. "Joey?"

"Yeah man," Joey replied. "But, you know, got something I better tell you." He looked furtively past his phone and in the direction of the toilets.

"Tell me later, Joey. Can you put her on?"

"Not right now," Joey replied, as he smiled at Jo, who was waving to him from down the airport's long arrivals corridor. "She's in the bathroom, oh!" he exclaimed, as Jo nudged into him. "Sorry," Chandler heard her say, then ask, "Is that Chandler?"

Thirty seconds later and Joanna was speaking to her friend on Joey's mobile phone. "Yes, Chandler, it was all I wished it could be, and more. I can't thank you enough," she said to him, then turning to Joey, "I can't thank you enough, either, Joey."

"It was nothing, really," Joey said, accepting her peck on the cheek. And then, as he sensed Jo was about to thank him again, Chandler said, " you coming back to meet me, right, so we can drive back up to Newtown?" When Jo had confirmed, he then added, "and at Jack's apartment, right?"

"Well," replied Jo, uncertainly. "Joey's back now, right?"

"No, no," said Joey, "I'm needed at the "Lyric". I need to stop there to get my work done."

"OK then," said Chandler, before Joanna could object. "If you're in agreement, I'll bunk with Jack, and you can have the other room."

"Alright, Chandler," said Jo, and he could hear a lightness in her voice, one which made her sound less weary and worn out.

"Alright? Alright, and, Joey can get a cab back to the city with you."

"Yes, that'll be great," Jo replied. She was just about to hand the phone back to Joey, when he heard, "And, Jo, it'll be great, tomorrow night. Jack's having a New Year party, and then we'll go on 1st January." From the apartment, Chandler could hear the silence. What had he done? Was she upset? Angry?

"Sounds good, Chandler," she replied, handing the phone back to Joey when Chandler was about to shout, "Hello" down the phone. She then pointed to the gift shop, as Joey put his phone back up to his ear, and she made her way to it.

When Joanna had turned the corner, Joey spoke into the handset again. "Chandler, listen. There's somethin' I gotta tell you!".

"Do it when you get back here," said Chandler, as he closed his hand over what he had in his pocket. "Jack's decided to host a party tomorrow for New Years, and I'm here stuffing olives with soft cheese.

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It took them almost two hours for the cab, driver swearing and cursing at the traffic, to get them to Manhattan, where both international travellers stepped out into the crisp, cold city air.

"Thank you again, Joey," said Joanna, trying to hold back some tears which she had been bottling up since the plane landed, "it meant a lot, seeing my boys."

"Hey, hey," soothed Joey, putting his hand on her shoulder, "you said it yourself, five weeks and you'll be back for good. Pity, you'll be missing the Superbowl." And then Joey went on to explain what the Superbowl actually was, which made Jo forget her feelings as they entered the apartment block and ascended the stairs.

When they got to the apartment, Chandler was indeed stuffing olives, an occupation which he did not mind abandoning when his friends came in. 

"Rachel, Monica, Emma and Erica are out shopping," Chandler told them, as they got in. "Jack's rehearsing – you really gave him a shot there, Joey."

\And you're stuffing olives," said Joey, smirking, as he strode over to his friend and gave him a hearty clap on the back, which was returned with equal enthusiasm. "It's no problem – hey," he added, "I gotta be there. I'm gonna throw my bag down and get some more stuff – I need to get some changes made right now, for tonight's show! Someone got a few things wrong, I'm tellin' ya!. Plus, I got some news for Jack."

"Oh?" said Chandler, stepping back as he waited for his friend to elaborate. "Na-ah," said Joey. "Come see it, if you wanna know."

"I went, two nights ago," said Chandler. "Be good to see it when Jack's in it."

"Won't be too long, man," said Joey, "I got him a video-conference call with his character's actor in London."

"That's great, Joey,!" declared Chandler.

"Joey added, "I know!" in reply, as he crossed the apartment to the room further from the window. Chandler looked up to Joanna.

"I can see your trip did you well," he said, taking in her radiance. "You look well."

"Fat," corrected Jo. "Everyone who has ever meant to say I look fat slipped up and ended up pronouncing it "well"."

There was a pause, while both of them thought what to say next.

"Hey, so you have your bag. What do you say you put your things in Joey's room and we look round the city this afternoon?"

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They ended up in "Cafe Perk" once, after four hours of sightseeing, Jo finally announced she was feeling exhausted. New York had been fun, much more fun than she remembered it to be, although she had been a grumpy, ungrateful teenager at the time in the most beautiful city in the world.

She had not put her bag away as he had suggested, but instead brought it with her, hoping to find an opportune moment to give him the gift inside. Now seemed like an opportune moment, Jo thought, as Chandler went to get their drinks and she thought about where they had been that afternoon.

"Here," Jo had said, pointing to where the lobby of the North Tower had once been, where now there was a concrete wall, part of the Nine-Eleven memorial. "Here. I stood right here, and the buildings were..." she'd looked up, heavenward.

"You know," Chandler had replied, "I would have been working here then, twenty-seventh floor. Systems processing and data analysis."

"Have you been in?" Jo had wondered, leaning over the edge of the railing. "Seems so calm and inviting."

"No."

"There's a memorial garden near to us at home," Joanna had explained, "remembering all the service personnel who have died since the 2nd World War. You would think it would be depressing, but it isn't: it's peaceful, and calm. We used to take the boys there when they were tiny, to have a run about, to look at the memorials, to go for nature walks.

"We?"

"Yes, look, maybe I ought to get a hotel room," Joanna had said quickly, as they smiled at one another, "and meet you at Jack's apartment on New Years?"

"I wouldn't hear of it. Jack and I are sharing, plus, who gets sleep on New Years'?"

"Alright," said Joanna, at last, smiling.

"And was it good to see your family?"

"So good to see them, Chandler, " Jo gushed, her pale eyes bright, "I didn't want to come back; the boys didn't want me to leave, look, there's something I need to tell you - " Jo had missed her step and had fallen off the pavement, nearly into the front of a yellow cab.

"Come on, the flight's tired you out. I know of a coffee place."

"How's your ankle?" asked Chandler, putting down a black coffee in front of her. "Do you need to get to a doctor."

"I've had worse," said Jo, rubbing it. "No, it's nothing, really. I got broken ribs from rugby once, and a cut behind by ear."

"Rugby?"

"You know? Like American Football, but without the armour. "

"And girls play?"

"Oh yeah."

"Broken ribs?"

"You should have seen the other girl. It;s quite safe really," she added, smiling.

"Ross didn't think so," laughed Chandler, half to himself as he picked up his cup.

"Ross?"

"He," Chandler lowered his voice as if his ex-best friend was nearby, "he was trying to impress this girl, Emily, the British one who he got married to second, and volunteered himself into playing." Over his cup, Chandler frowned. "You really played?"

"Only for a few years, before I got to old. And family...complicated."

"Mine too."

"Here,"said Jo, reaching into her bag. "You got me the best Christmas present a person could ever have. You gave me my family." She put a large, thin, square wrapped gift onto the table, pushing over the "reserved" sign in the process.

"Hey, what's this? The world's biggest coaster?"

"I would agree," said Jo, "but you may not." She waited as he tore off the paper, before looking down and analysing the writing on the sleeve.

"The Wall? Pink Floyd."

"It's not absolutely new," said Jo, flushing a little. "I got it at a boot sale. But I thought you'd like it."

"Boot sale?"

"You would call it a garage sale? A yard sale? Only, we don't have houses as big as yours; in Britain we put things we don't need any more in the car boot – you call it the "trunk" - and go off to a venue to sell." She analysed his face as he stared at the record once more.

"I'm sorry if it's rubbish," she finished. But Chandler turned to her, putting it down, and drew her in for a hug.

"No, no..." he replied, "it's not rubbish at all. You do realise this is a first pressing?"

"What?"

"An original, from the seventies. It's wonderful. Thank you, English," he added, turning the record over in his hand. "I really can't believe it."

"I noticed you had a turntable back at the complex."

"It'll play very well," he said. "And it's not 80s. It must have cost a fortune."

"Nah," said Jo, trying to force off the seriousness of the atmosphere. "Two quid, I can afford two quid for you, Chandler." She felt her face warming as she tried to dismiss his gratitude. "Anyway, there was something I wanted to ask you."

"Ask away," he said, still looking at the record.

"You know you mentioned about your spare room?"

"Would you like to stop in it until you're done at Newtown?"

"Yes," said Joanna. "I would be most grateful. I would pay you my "Marshall" rent – it needs to be above board. A business arrangement," she clarified, as her friend and work-colleague frowned at her expression.

"Yeah," Chandler agreed, smiling. "Yes, Jo. Stop with me; I wouldn't like to see you back in Hookerland if you can help it."

"Cheers, then," said Jo, holding up her tepid, half-finished coffee. "Here's to a "Happy New Year."

"Cheers," replied Chandler, feeling as if something this holiday had finally come right.

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Chandler returned to the apartment to find not only Jack but Joey waiting for them. Jo said she would like to go to get some things from the deli around the corner and would buzz to get let back in and he opened the door, humming a tune from "West Side Story" only to be greeted with two pairs of eyes staring at him.

"I thought you were both going to be at the "Lyric" justified Chandler, his face falling a little.

"And I thought you were with your work colleague," said Jack. "Has she gone back to North Dakota."

"No," replied Chandler. "We took a walk round the city. We had coffee. I've invited her to stay here til we go back, on New Years' Day. I hope that meets with your approval, son?"

Instead of answering, Jack stood up, putting down his script and folding his arms. "Uncle Joey said..."

"Said?"

"You asked her to the New Year party?"

Chandler could feel himself smiling. "No, I told her she could sleep in my car for two days. Yes, I asked her to the party."

"You know mom will be there, right?"

"Yes, I know mom will be there."

"And mom has something important to say to you."

"Yes. She told me. Christmas Day wasn't the best day, and - " He felt inside his pocket, clasping the object again.

"Where is she?" asked Joey, looking past him as he jumped up from the settee.

"Across the block, in the sandwich shop." Joey frowned, and then pushed the door closed.

"Listen, you remember this morning when I told you I gotta tell you something? Well, I gotta tell you something..." Joey folded his arms for a second, then unfolded them, looking agitated.

"Spit it out, Joe," encouraged Chandler, "What?"

"It's...well...Joanna...she lost her wallet at the airport in London; she offered me the plane ticket money, but I turned it down. I heard her on the phone...

Footsteps on the stairs outside the apartment drew Chandler's attention, but he heard Joey continue, "She talked on her phone for like, an hour..."

"Hey, you should see the stuff we got on sale!" declared Erica, holding out her "Macy's" bag in front of her, waving it. "Eighty percent off, can you believe it?"

"What?" Chandler asked.

"Eighty percent off," repeated Erica, her white-blonde hair sheening in the apartment's lights.

"I called that number." Joey said, looking a little sheepish. "I never mean to..."

"What?" Chandler was trying to keep up with two conversations. "Erica, just a minute." Behind her Emma hurried in, swinging a bag similar to that of her cousin.

"She's married."

"Surprise!" declared Rachel, glancing at Chandler, then stepping towards her nephew. "Look what your Aunt Rachel got you."

"What?"

"She's married, Chandler. Joanna's married."

And it happened, as these things are wont to do, that Joey's voice rang out clearly and keenly in the silence between two conversations. Everyone in the apartment could not mistake what he had said.

"You sure?" asked Chandler, letting go of his record. His ex-best friend Ross stepped quickly to catch it.

"Pink Floyd?" he asked, sliding the record out of its sleeve. "The Wall? Good choice, man."

"How do you..."

"I heard," mumbled Joey. "Then, I checked her phone." He looked across to Jack. "I think it was the same number you found."

"What're we talking about here?" asked Rachel, looking around.

"The English," said Jack, staring at his father. "Seems like she's married." Then, out of his pocket he took a slip of paper and, still staring at Chandler, walked over to his room-mate, holding it out to Joey.

"No," said Chandler. "You _kept _it, Jack?" he said, disappointment in his voice as he realised his son had taken a copy of the number they had found in Joanna's wallet.

"There's only one way to find out." Joey took the number, slipping out his phone from his pocket. Chandler shrank back, shaking his head.

"Don't do it, Joe," he said, shaking his head at his friend.

"What is "paeleolithic care"?" asked Joey. Ross stepped past Rachel, craning over Joey's shoulder.

"Palliative care," said Ross. "And, I don;t know,,,," Joey pulled away from the phone and looked back at Ross.

"No, don't do that, " implored Chandler. "You've gotta stop."

Giving Chandler the look of someone who felt very much in the side of righteousness, Ross took Joey's phone.

"Good evening," he said, walking away from Joey as he spoke. Chandler stared at Ross before retreating to the sofa, leaning down to hold his head in his hands as Ross clicked on "speaker".

"May I speak to Mr. Lucas," he asked, staring at Chandler.

"I'm afraid," said the English accent, "that he is unable to come to the phone, of course."

"But he_ is _there?"

"Yes," confirmed the voice. "This is the palliative care unit. Is this a joke?" Chandler turned his head to one side for a moment, his face ashen.

"No, ma'am. Will he be able to come to the phone?" Behind Ross the girls began to whisper, before Rachel "hushed" them.

"Not exactly. Listen," said the voice, testily, "Who are you? And what do you want."

"I am Mrs Lucas's lawyer, Mr...er...Shakespeare." Ross raised his eyebrows and Jack laughed out loud derisively for a few seconds.

"Perhaps you'd better come in Mr. Shakespeare. Mr. Lucas's neurosurgeon wishes to speak to you."

"Mr Lucas's neurosurgeon...?"

"Can we say next – " But there was a "click" as Ross put the phone down, giving it back to Joey in a hurry. He then looked back at Chandler, who was again nursing his head.

"Can I just say, Chandler, married people seeing other married people, shouldn't...well - " he stood by the counter, hands on hips, his tone one of chastisement " - shouldn't be allowed?" To this, Rachel laughed out loud.

"So, there we have it," said Jack, his voice one of triumph. "She's married, Dad, the English Prig, so - "

"So...?" But Chandler didn't have time to finish his sentence. In the doorway, face pale as she looked around at the people in No. 20, Joanna Lucas stared. And then, leaning over to grab for her bag, turned on her heel and dashed away.

Pushing past his friends and family, Chandler made after her, catching the edge of the door and slamming it closed behind him.


	9. Chapter 9

It had been so late on the Eve of New Year's Eve, when Chandler had finally got back to the apartment that it had been early. Clicking open the lock of the door which he had slammed nearly twelve hours before, he closed it quietly, holding it closed when he was on the other side of it.

Admittedly, he had not spent all twelve hours looking for Joanna: after it had got to two AM, and he had found himself in Central Park, the homeless and the drug-addicted beginning to come out in force, he had decided to take a walk, which had taken him to the city's port authority, back round to the Battery and then through the village.

It truly was a city that didn't sleep. Admittedly, it was the holiday season, and more people were going to be around, the roads were as packed as ever with cabs and cars, especially around the Central area.

What_ had_ happened? He looked around the dark, still apartment where he had allowed his ex-best friend to call a number which his son had illicitly stolen about three weeks ago, and had heard that his friend, the friend who had got him that amazing gift, the friend who he was looking forward to all week to come back, while he spent time with his son, daughter and had a strained time with his ex-in-laws in the city.

Sinking down onto the settee, Chandler saw the record, its brick-wall design and graffiti-like writing staring back at him, reflected by the lights from the street outside. He glared at it for a moment, as if all of this were Rob Gilmour's fault, then closed his eyes.

Married. Why ever would she not be? She had children after all, and she had never explicitly said that she was not. His mind too perturbed to get to the bottom of his thoughts, so it could crystallise what it was trying to tell him about Joanna Lucas, Chandler got back up, made and drank coffee, showered, then, about two hours before the other occupants were even thinking about getting up, sank down onto his bed, his head enveloped by the pillow, and was asleep.

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"I told you, I heard him come in around five," insisted Jack, as he sat eating a bacon sandwich at the apartment's small table. Joey Tribbiani had just put a cup of coffee in front of him, the steam from which curled into the air before the young actor as he looked up to his mentor. "I woke up and was about to go to the bathroom. Dad was sitting right there. And then he went to the bathroom and went to bed."

From his room, Chandler stirred at the voice of his son, who was put out a little that he was going to be understudying the matinee performance at the theatre, but who was reassured by Joey that his sister, uncle, aunt and cousin would take care of everything.

"I got it all worked out," said Joey, taking a sip of coffee. "And, you get to talk to Ryan Jones."

Just as Jack was about to establish who Ryan Jones was, his father strode out of his room, rubbing his eyes, and yawning.

"Late night, Dad?" asked Jack, sarcasm in his voice. "What time were you back last night?"

"About four-thirty," said Chandler, glancing over to Joey. "And I don't know where she is."

"Hey, man," said Joey, sympathetically. "that's tough. She don't know the city at all. And to just take off like that."

"Well," he said, giving his son a disapproving look, "wouldn't you have?"

"Dad, Joey's got me a conference call to London, to speak to the actor playing my part. Joey managed to get some good consultation in, and we are adapting a coupla more scenes."

"Jack, that's great," Chandler said, accepting the coffee that Joey had poured for him. "So, you off to the theatre?"

"Mh-hm," agreed Jack, through a bite of his bacon sandwich. "And Erica and the others are going to fix up the place for tonight."

"Jack," Chandler began, glancing at his friend again. "May I just say – "

"Look, Dad, I am sorry that I kept the number," he began. But Chandler hushed him up.

"I know why you did it," he said, patting his son on the shoulder. "But, there are right and wrong ways to go about things."

"So, you gonna speak to mom then?" he said, "she'll be over this evening after work."

Chandler nodded. He had something to discuss with her too, and her Christmas gift which, in light of the events of Christmas Day, he had considered it would be an inappropriate time.

"Glad we got that sorted out," he said, draining his cup. "Don't do that again, Jack. Joanna is a work colleague, nothing more." Dumping the cup into the apartment's sink and striding over to the door, he added, "I'll back to help later, too."

"Where?" asked Jack, frowning.

"To look for her."

"Why?" demanded Jack, his face frowning.

"Why not just call her?" asked Joey.

"Don't have her…number…" he saw his son's expression, one of disbelief settle on his features – he was clearly having none of his father's half-explanations.

"I do," said Joey, slipping out his phone and staring at the screen.

"Why?"

"So's we could call one another when getting back on the flight." Yes, thought Chandler, looking down at the touch screen. Of course. That made perfect sense. When Jo had come back from seeing her family at Christmas…

"Then, can I have it?" he said, as Joey looked at him.

"I don't know, man…" he began. But Chandler interrupted him.

"Well," he said, hands on hips. "Let me just establish the facts. You won't let me call her, because you don't want me to speak to her. Yet, _you_ took down the number out of her wallet and let Ross call it? And you," he turned to his son, "you went through that wallet,and kept that number all this time?" At Chandler's calling out of them both, Jack and Joey exchanged looks.

"OK," agreed Joey, "have her number," and he read it out as Chandler carefully inputted it into his phone.

After a few seconds of ringing, the phone clicked and Jo's voice said, "Hello?"

"Jo, said Chandler, nodding to Joey, "it's me," he added, lamely, ignoring Joey pointing at himself, and grinning when Chandler said her name.

"Hello, from the other side…ha, sorry, bad joke. Thank you for calling," said her answering machine message, "I'm not available to take your call just now, so please leave your name and number and I'll get back to you." Chandler put the phone down without leaving a message.

"What did you do that for?"

"I…" he stared at his phone blankly for a second, "…don't know. I thought it was her, and then it wasn't…"

"Look, I'll do it," said Joey, and called from his own phone, as Chandler looked around the apartment.

"I thought she might have come back last night," he added sinking down onto a kitchen chair as Joey waved at him to be quiet as he listened on the phone. "It'd make me feel much better if I found out where she was."

After the same message, Joey left one of his own, asking after her, and inviting her to the party, much to the resentful expression on his honorary godson's face.

"OK, I'll see you later," said Chandler, when Joey had turned off his phone, and then strode through the doorway before either Joey or Jack could say anything.

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Just after 3pm on New Year's Eve, and about twenty four hours after leaving the place with Jo the day before, Chandler sank down onto the elderly, orange settee, drinking deeply from a cup of strong black coffee and biting into a bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich.

Where was she? He thought, glancing around, a part of his mind considering that the coffee house simply hadn't changed in nearly twenty five years. Then, as he swallowed his sandwich and sipped his coffee, the hope of finding having slowly leaked out of him like a tiny hole in a bottle of water, he considered that she could well be on her way back to Marshall by herself.

No, no, he thought again, screwing up his eyes. Yes, of course she could be going back – she was independent and resilient. But, transport back to North Dakota, there would be a "Greyhound" or a flight. It was possible that…

And then a thought struck him, causing Chandler to abandon his coffee and sandwich and bolt out of the coffee house, leaving a bemused Gunther looking after him.

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"That'll be twenty dollars, sir," said the man at the turnstile as Chandler reached for his wallet, having paid the cab driver.

The Twin Towers Memorial was packed with tourists and it was hard to see beyond the perimeter of the buildings and into the Nine-Eleven Memorial.

It had been an effort to go downtown. To say that the whole of the country – the whole of the world had not been in mourning for the longest time after such a catastrophic event was an understatement. He had been at Diamond and Hope by then, having moved from the North Tower and his mind had blocked out much of what concerned him about the attack.

"Sir," the man insisted, as a queue was beginning to form behind Chandler on this increasingly cold afternoon "if you wanna go in you gotta pay." He pointed out the entrance fee sign behind him. "Twenty bucks."

"Come on!" insisted voices behind him, "it's cold out here!"

Twenty dollars later and Chandler was descending the steps into the lower part of the memorial. Around him, faces of the victims looked back at him, a citation from family members next to them. It had been the first time he had visited, to his shame and, as he descended, he was flooded with memories, thoughts and feelings of that day, a Tuesday, just as he was crossing the city to work.

He had worked there, once. And, had terrorists chosen a day a few years sooner, he would be there, his picture a foot high with calm comforting words from his own family. Perhaps it was his own sense of mortality which had kept him from coming here. That and knowing if he looked hard enough, even after seventeen years, there would be still faces he recognised, even if their names and their jobs were long gone from his memory.

He might still have been there had he not got together with Monica and finally, finally, decided to plan his life...he had left colleagues behind. He knew where he had been that day, the day people had thrown themselves out of windows to their deaths on the pavement below as a preferable way to die than burning in the inferno from which there was no escape...

Turning to go, Chandler turned back as saw...a view, an image of a person who he had been looking for...she was walking away from him at the far end of the hall.

She had come here, Jo, the English. She had come for the solitude and peace she said this place had.

"Joanna! Jo!" Chandler didn't even remember telling his brain to scream her name across the hall. Several faces turned to look at him. Jo did not turn – had she heard him? Even if she had, she didn't turn her head. He stepped back down the one step ans walked with purpose to where Jo was walking, but she disappeared around the side of one of the displays, looking over her shoulder before she went.

Chandler slowed his pace to nothing when he saw her face. It wasn't Jo. She wasn't here. She wasn't, it seemed, anywhere.

88888888

The music from the party echoed down the hall on the third floor of the apartment block. Door open, it was much like any one of the millions of parties which were happening all over the country to welcome in a new year and see out an old.

Chandler had got back around six to see his ex-wife and her brother decorating, with the Es filming aspects of the party preparations for their Youtube video.

"Hey, man," Joey had said, when he got back with Jack a couple of hours later. Chandler had said nothing to Monica and Ross, nor to Emma and Erica either about where he had been, instead he had got to work helping get the apartment into a state of decoration, but when guests had begun to arrive he had found a quiet place near the corner of the window to sit and observe the people who his son had invited.

"I've got some Coke you can have," said Joey, offering him the bottle before sitting down next to him. "You did a really good thing today."

"Well, someone had to," said Chandler. Those olives weren't going to stuff themselves."

"No, come on, man, I mean Joanna. I was sure she would call me back; I was sure you would find her, seeing as how determined you've been..."

"I guess," he said, taking the Coke. "I just wish I could have seen her, to talk to her."

Just then, the apartment's land-line rang. Chandler sat forward, Joey stared, as Jack answered it.

"Hey, mom! Uncle Ross!" he called, holding the handset to his chest. "It's a call for you." Ross hovering nearby as Erica stood next to her dad, asking what his favourite part of the holidays had been as Emma filmed.

"Being with my family, and especially my gorgeous daughter," Chandler replied, a fitting response to them as he hugged her.

"Mine has been the play," said Joey, pitching in quickly before the camera got taken away, "and that your brother is in it." Erica gasped, putting her hands to her face before leaning around the lens of the camera and grinning.

"Yes, yes, oh Emma!" Erica exhorted. "And to our loyal followers, a quick mention that the "Cursed Child" play is still running on Broadway right now – my brother Jack is in it – and, yes, if you use the discount code below "2EsTen""

"By the way," added Emma, turning the camera onto herself. "Not sponsored. But you know the play is fantastic, right?" She turned the camera back onto Joey.

"Ah-ha," nodded Joey in agreement. "Come see our play – it's wizard!" He sat back down as Emma and Erica moved on to another group of people. Chandler distinctly heard Emma say to Erica, "that's one for the bloopers."

"Hey, Joey," said Ross, nodding briefly to Chandler. "Phoebe and Mike are on their way; they're just dropping off Lily with Mike's parents."

"Oh, that'll be great to see Phoebe," said Joey, grinning at Chandler before poking him in the arm as an encouragement to emotion. "It's a long way from Canada."

"Yes," nodded Chandler, not knowing what else to day. "It will be good to see Phoebe and Mike." Ross looked between Joey and Chandler.

"Hey, I'm sorry to hear about this woman," he said, and really looked genuinely sorry. "Maybe she's alright, you know?" Chandler nodded slowly to Ross, toasting him pointedly with his non-alcoholic drink.

"You know what palliative care is, right, don't you, Ross?"

"Well yeah." he replied. Joey shook his head. Ross turned to him.

"It's care for people who are ill, very ill, who won't make it, Joey." Chandler sipped at his Coke silently as if it really were adding life, after the memory of his visit to Ground Zero that afternoon had sucked a lot of it out. "God, this husband of hers, the neurosurgeon, sounds like a saint."

"But." replied Chandler, as Ross sat down next to Joey, "she never talked of a husband before; he must be making a fortune and she's out here, struggling. You should see where she lived; animals at the zoo have better. In fact, sometimes I wonder how Continental can justify it for anyone."

"Maybe they're separated, or divorced?" Ross suggested.

"Then why call her? You told me that, Joey," he accused, staring at his friend for a second.

"Don't think about it, man. She might be on a plane back home, right now, for all we know."

"Bud?" asked Jack, approaching his dad with a beer. Chandler shook his head.

"No thanks," he said, "but if you just leave it up on the shelf there, I can accidentally take a sip and be accused of being an irresponsible alcoholic again."

"They didn't exactly call you that," said Ross, getting up. "And, to be fair, you were, when you were married to my sister."

Without saying anything, Chandler raised his glass in a mock toast as Phoebe and Mike arrived, greeting everyone as they came in.

"Why hasn't she called, Joe?" lamented Chandler as Ross left them to talk to Phoebe. Jack sat down in his place.

"Who?" asked his son.

"Joanna."

"The English prig?" Jack asked.

"If she would just call, I would be happy that she had not joined the ranks of the homeless, or been murdered." He looked across to Joey, ignoring his son's deliberate comment.

"You have an English pig?" asked Phoebe, crossing over to them, smiling. It had been a long time since Chandler had seen her; Joey got up and pulled her in for a kiss, and then Chandler hugged her. She hadn't changed. Out of all of them, Chandler could still see their ditsy friend in the long dresses, knitted waistcoats and big jewellery that she wore when they first all started to hang out together. Perhaps choosing an alternative lifestyle was allowing her to keep her youth.

"No, prig," corrected Chandler, sipping his Coke. "And she's not a prig, she's a really nice person."

"Who are we talking about?" asked Phoebe, nodding in thanks as Ross, who had gone to chat to Mike came back over with a drink for her.

"She's English," replied Chandler.

"What, like Emily?"

"No, she's different to Emily, Phoebe. She has a good sense of humour, we get on extremely well, we have complicated backgrounds in common – I'm still in love with my ex and she's married, apparently."

"You're still in love with your ex?" asked Joey, looking at Ross. "You mean, Monica?"

That was news to them. And it made some sense – not many people would have put up with what he had endured on Christmas Day from his ex-in-laws otherwise.

"So, she didn't tell you about Richard, huh?" Chandler gave her a double take. Richard?

"Richard?"

"Mh-hh," she agreed. "Did I say something wrong?" she added, as Chandler shot to his feet.

"I gotta get some air," he said, walking round to the window, pulling up the sash, before stepping out and onto the balcony. Richard, he thought to himself. Richard? What had he got to do with all of this? He leaned his arms on the balcony, then rested his head on them for a second.

Richard? He shook his head, then reached into his pocket, to the box he had had in there for almost a week. Monica's Christmas present: earrings like the ones he had got her, with Rachel's help, for their six-month anniversary. He was still in love with her; this was no lie, not to himself, not to Joanna, to whom he had first openly confessed the fact. It would be good if the planet revolved along feelings alone, but it didn't.

There was no future together, not after his separation, their family divided, time having passed while he got himself together. Perhaps there was truth in what Jack had said to him: he couldn't bring himself to be happy or, to some extent, he sabotaged his happiness subconsciously. Perhaps "happy" scared him; maybe he didn't know what to do with it.

"Hey." Beside him, soundlessly, the love of his life stood next to him. "I saw you come out here. What are you doing?"

"Getting some air," he said, "it's been a trying day."

"Jack told me about...Joanna, is it?"

"Mh-h," agreed Chandler. "I feel terrible about it; there's some people owe her an apology for prying into her private life like that."

"Joey said she was nice," Monica said, "he also said the stuffed olives were the best he had ever tasted." She stepped closer to him, and looked down into the streets, which were getting filled up now with people waiting to celebrate the change of year.

"Yeah, well," replied Chandler, smiling at his ex. "Joey is a very good actor."

They fell into silence as Monica put her hands on his shoulders. He turned.

"You know, I went looking for her today; she didn't deserve to have her private life discussed amongst strangers. I went all over town. I ended up at the Nine-Eleven Memorial – that really brought it home, you know? Life is short."

"I know," said Monica, soothingly. "I'm not angry with you," she added, looking at him, earnestly. "I was, once. But now I'm not. We grew apart; you needed the support I was too blind to see I needed to give. You tried your hardest and your job was difficult. I found a way with mine, and with looking after the twins, but excluded you. Not on purpose, but because life made us make difficult choices."

"Painkillers and alcohol," said Chandler, shaking his head. "I got addicted; I wish I had never taken those stupid pills. I'd rather have had the pain of the bus hitting me than taking an addictive painkiller."

"And I wasn't there. I tried to build my business. And then, it crumbled down, just like that. Everyone in the world knows what they were doing when they heard about the terrorist attacks on the World Trade Centre. But, far less knew what they were doing in October 2008. I reckon unchecked capitalism killed more people than Nine-Eleven, overall: loss of business; impact in the family; debt-related illnesses; poorer diets, domestic violence."

Chandler turned, drawing her in. "I'm sorry," he said, into her hair. "I wish I could have done something about it. When I said our wedding vows, I meant them. I still love you Monica Geller."

"You do?" she pulled back a little, her face one of astonishment.

"Mh-hm," he agreed. Monica smiled widely at his words.

"I do too," she agreed warmly. "Every day that goes by I remember here, our love, our precious something that makes us...made us a couple. But, I'm a different person, and I have a whole new life. So do you. Your work at Continental."

"...is just time filling. I miss our family, but now the children are grown up," he admitted. "I lost so much time with Jack and Erica when I chose to be away. It's my fault he's grown up to act out, and speak to us the way he did at Christmas." Chandler looked serious as he added,"I put him in his place."

"No you didn't Chandler, I did. How dare he be so astute to think you have a hero complex?"

"It's probably a gay thing – must get it from my dad." Monica smiled again at the obvious joke. "Besides, I don't have a hero complex."

"Rescuing this Joanna? Rescuing me?"

"No, I didn't," he replied.

"When you said about us being the last 2 people, trying to chat me up on the plane...you peed on me when I was stung by a jellyfish. And when I was called Ross' mother at the wedding rehearsal..."

"Which one?" Chandler smiled, stepping back. "OK, I guess I do...but she's different."

"You teased her," Monica chided, as Chandler raised his eyebrows. "She found out, you went to say sorry, there was chemistry."

"There's no chemistry," Chandler replied.

"Not according to Joey."

"It's not like that – she's struggling over getting money for her family...she's having a hard time. I know something about hard family times. If we have anything, we have friendship-chemistry..."

"Did you figure that out before or after you knew she was married?"

Chandler stepped away, folding his arms.

"Look," said Monica, stepping over to him. "It's OK. People can still be in love and move on in their lives. If she's someone you have feelings for..."

"Ah! Don't!" Chandler replied.

"Don't "ah!" me," Monica said, looking at him imploringly. "I know you, remember?"

Chandler sagged. She did know him. But he knew her. And she wouldn't be trying talking to him like this if she wanted to make a go of things again. There would be...competition...

"Ok," he admitted. "She needed help. And me and Joey helped. But she's funny, Mon, she makes me laugh and forget all about my worries you know? She makes me feel safe and happy."

"Then, go find her!" said Monica, pointing out into the City.

"I looked. Manhattan is a big place, unless you haven't noticed."

"Well, pour some Liptons tea over the balcony." Chandler laughed.

"She's married, though," he said, at length. "Thanks to Ross I found out."

"What will you do?" Chandler said nothing for a moment, as the late evening breeze blew past them. He took out the earrings box from his pocket again and turned it over in his fingers.

"Talk to her." Then he looked at Monica, and frowned. "But you know, Mon, all the time I've been with her, she had never once mentioned her husband. In my experience, married women let me know in the first 20 seconds of me saying "Hi", you know?"

He took her hand, and then looked out onto the bright lights of New York City.

"Richard, eh?"

"Richard," agreed Monica. "We've been seeing each other for nearly eight months. It just works, you know. I wanted to tell you."

"I know. Or at least, I knew you wanted to tell me something. Jack told me anyway that you did. He thinks you are going to tell me you want to make another go of it." Monica smiled.

"I know. He is idealistic. We all were when we were eighteen."

"Not me. I learned cynicism early." Into her hand he placed the box, closing her hand around it. "For Christmas. I hope they are the same as the ones that Rachel and Phoebe lost. But you can exchange them if they're not what you want."

"I'm sure they'll be wonderful," she said, stepping away from him so she could see them in the light of the apartment's window. Three nosy faces all turned away as she looked in.

Chandler bowed his head, acknowledging the closing chapter of his life. He still loved her, and always would. But people move on, and circumstances change. He was about to step in through the window, determined now to enjoy the rest of the party and turned, looking at his ex-wife in all her beauty, as she examined the earrings.

"I still love you, Monica Geller-Bing," he said, advancing on her quickly. The kiss lasted a second, but it was the seal of the end of their intimate relationship. "I can't see it working out, even if Richard was not in the picture."

"I know, I love you too, Chandler. And these are beautiful."

"Aw, you would say that anyway – you always did."

He made to the window and was about to climb through when Monica hurried over.

"I need to ask you something," she said quickly, her face reddening in the light of the apartment. "I want to ask your blessing."

"My blessing?"

"Richard has asked me to marry him."

The noise from the traffic below faded to nothing; the party atmosphere died down. The last twenty years of his life faded from his mind as he thought of the man who was always, in the end, been at the back of their relationship. Chandler smiled.

"Yes," he nodded. "Marry Richard. Even though he's nearly seventy and he'll be needing a zimmer frame soon."

"I heard that," came a voice from inside. Chandler's heart dropped a little, as it always did when his rival was around. But Monica was hugging him close, and he her back.

"...and here, on the Dick Clarke's Rockin New Years Eve, just twenty minutes to go until twenty nineteen..." said the voice in the television.

Monica walked back into the room, Chandler close behind her as Rachel came over to her, whispering something in her ear which sounded a bit like, "Did it go alright, honey?" When she saw Chandler, she smiled and pointed to the television, adding, "Do you remember when you and Ross went on this?"

"Yeah, we had that routine," said Ross, smiling at his sister.

"You had a routine?" Richard, taking Monica's hand, as she glanced over her shoulder to Chandler, raised his eyebrows.

"Richard, man, can I talk to you for a few minutes?" He let go of Monica's hand and nodded to her as she and Rachel went off to talk to Phoebe

"I never meant to hurt Monica," he began, but Richard raised his hand.

"Life is like that, Chandler. I got divorced; people make mistakes, it's called living. Who's to say it won't end for us too?"

"It won't, man, it won't. But if you do what I did to her, there will be...violence..." Richard laughed, and Chandler joined in, but could not be sure if he was laughing with Monica's fiance or at his own macho claim, chivalrous though it was.

And then...it seemed as if the sound had been sucked out of the room. For, outside the open apartment door stood...

"Is that...the English prig?" Monica asked Jack. Richard looked past Chandler to the door, before crossing over to Monica. Rachel and Phoebe both turned; Ross just then coming to stand by Rachel, the E's, both looking stunning young women, standing next to their parents, all stared.

"Hi..." said Jo quietly, smiling a little.

"Hi, Jo..."

Yo!" shouted Joey, from inside, perennially confused, then added, "No!" and turned from the door, but not too far that he couldn't hear what was going to be said. Chandler frowned at his friend, and then turned back to Joanna.

"Chandler, may I speak to you?" she asked.

"Jo, yeah, sure." He stood still for a few moments before he heard Richard's voice near his ear.

"Go to her," he instructed softly.

"You came back..." he said, stepping out of the apartment and around the corner.

"The cost of the flights were phenomenal back to Sloulin," she admitted, her hair a little dishevelled and her face a little dirty. "So I've come to ask you for a lift."

"Where were you?" he asked. "I was worried, Jo. You could have been anywhere...you could have died, or worse. You could have ended up in Brooklyn."

"I sat inside the Nine-Eleven memorial all today, til I was kicked out."

"You know, I went there to find you. I knew you would be there, somehow. I thought I saw you, but...it wasn't you," he finished, lamely.

"That's kind of you, Chandler," she said, smiling.

"And last night?" he pressed.

"The YMCA. I helped out with the homeless; I spent the night there, thanking the Lord God Almighty for my fortunes, my children, my family, the man I spent fifteen years with, until he died five years ago.

Chandler looked at her, without speaking. They both knew that Ross had spoken to the Palliative Care Unit. But, died? The nurse had confirmed he was there.

"Oh, yes he's gone," continued Jo, turning so as to hide her fight against her tears, and won, but only just. "No matter what you and your friends found out. Car accident. I nagged him and nagged him into getting the shopping done early so we could spend the rest of the day going out. And then ended up in hospital, bleeding on the brain...been in an unconscious coma ever since."

"When you say unconscious...?" Chandler's voice was soft, calm, but Jo refused to turn round.

"I mean," she addressed the stairwell, "should his organs ever allow him to support himself, which is unlikely after such a long period of time he will be so brain-damaged that he will be beyond..." She broke off. "My marriage ended that day, 13th June. Just because my husband's heart and lungs are fighting the very best fight it can to prove me wrong is a different matter."

From the living room, a five minute time check was given from Dick Clarke. Behind Joanna Lucas, her work colleague touched her on the shoulder.

"Joanna."

"Don't," she said, turning round, her face stiff and pale. "I'm sorry to have to have told you this; I don't know how your friends found out the number for his ward but..." she broke off, changing the subject. "This is a _party_, for heavens' sake; you don't want me depressing the mood."

"Jo..."

"I just hope that..."

"20, 19..."

"I mean to say that...I'm sorry I didn't..."

"You don't have to say sorry, Jo..."

"14...13...12..."

"I wanted to ask you something..."

"10, 9, 8..." came Dick Clarke.

"But, Chandler..." Joanna looked into his eyes.

The cheering began just before midnight that New Years' Eve at Apartment 20. Out in the hallway two colleagues marked the start of 2019. From his vantage point by the open door, Joey Tribbiani watched as Joanna Lucas pulled Chandler in for a hug, and then kissed him briefly before, a second later, a kiss which was returned unreservedly, and the hug was intensified as if letting go of the woman would mean the end of the world.

Music from the stereo brought the two back to earth, and into the new year. Jo stepped back quickly, looking up a little shyly to her work colleague.

"Come on," said Chandler, decisively, taking Jo by the hand. "There's at least three people in here who owe you an apology." But Jo did not step with him, and let go.

"In?" She stared back through at the guests. "But, you're all American...tall, beautiful, besides, I'm not dressed for a party."

Chandler was about to insist when a slight, slender woman appeared in the doorway as "...we don't need no education..." filled the room.

"Hey, lets have a look at the woman who makes my ex laugh. Joanna, isn't it?" Monica stepped towards her. "Monica," she introduced herself. "The ex. Now, you were invited to a party, and you came. Please, let me escort you in."

88888888

Five hours later, and with various guests sleeping in various places around the apartment, Chandler pulled a blanket over Joanna, before kissing her on the cheek.

"Happy New Year," he whispered by her ear, before making his way into his son's room, sleeping fully dressed next to Jack.

"So you think he's still in love with you?" A voice from near the window, for two people were not asleep, filled the apartment.

"Naa, I think he's well past me, Richard," replied Monica, touching the small, platinum stud earrings she had been gifted just a few hours before. She leaned into his arms and he stroked her hair.


	10. Chapter 10

How different the return journey between New York and Newtown. Twenty six hours, as before and yet to Jo, it felt as if it had passed far quicker than when they had travelled to the City. They both had work the next day, which accounted for some time thinking; the roads were pretty clear and they had made a prompt departure from the apartment, Chandler saying his goodbyes even when some of Jack's guests had still been asleep.

Other things were causing her to spend time thinking too, as the music in the car made her zone out and look at the scenery as they passed through New York, Pennsylvania, Wyoming, the events that had happened: events that were dwelling just below her subconscious, which she using a lot of energy to keep out of the present, as they discussed matter-of-fact things like whether there would be hold-ups in the Lincoln Tunnel (there wasn't) or if the roads in up=state New York would be empty this time of day on New Years' (they were). Whether she was cold, or hot; whether she wanted the music on, or not.

Chandler looked tired. He had gone to bed very early that morning and only had a few hours sleep, she knew. And, while they had departed late morning, it was still a long journey, despite the roads being very straight once they had got out of New York State area, though of course, to Joanna's mind, the upper speed limit of fifty miles per hour was wasted on roads that the Romans would have been proud to have called their own.

Their departure had been straightforward, and dictated by circumstance. She had woken up to a smell of coffee and bacon and had been offered both by a smiling Joey, who had wondered whether she had had a little bit too much to drink last night, as she reminded him that she didn't as she got up, not from a rickety single bed in a damp room in the YMCA but instead the apartment of Chandler's son. She was then introduced to the other people at the party: Jack's twin Erica; their cousin Emma; Emma's parents, Rachel and Ross, who she remembered being at the apartment when she left from it, when Chandler's friends were discussing her business very loudly with the door open.

As she was about to pick up her bags a woman who she remembered to be the one who had brought her in forcefully to the New Years party and turned out to be Monica beamed at her, wishing her all the best for the future while Chandler was promising his son that he would be there on Jack's opening night on Broadway.

And now, as they had now reached Fargo, the Eastern-most city in North Dakota, she hoped that Chandler's ex-wife, clearly very happy to be engaged again, had not meant what Jo thought she meant. But she had a feeling that Monica probably did. Which is why she and Chandler needed to talk – properly – before they got anywhere near Marshall, which would be their next turning.

While the small talk had been necessary at the start of the journey, now, so close to Newtown, and with the question of where she was actually going to be living as yet undiscussed, as Spandau Ballet reminded them of the capital of Austria, something needed to be said. But it was clear she was not as courageous as she had thought.

Just after Pittsburgh Chandler had stopped for a few hours' shut-eye, pulling the seat back and closing his eyes having pulled off at a gas station and motel complex. Joanna had got out of the car and, standing by the passenger side door in the mild, black night, freeing the thoughts that she had forced from her mind to bubble up to the surface.

What _had_ last night meant? The night's breeze untidied her hair for her as Jo stood there, leaning. If she were to be totally honest, it would be to say that a tiny part of her enjoyed it romantically – New Years' Eve and all that, a kiss and a wish for the year to come at midnight; but the most of her felt...protected, wanted, welcomed. She felt as if she had really made a friend. And at that moment, at the end of her thought process, she looked back to her sleeping friend and knew she had to discuss this with him before they got back to Newtown because, the second part of it was that they had both agreed she would move into the apartment and, if she did that, she did not want any...complications.

These thoughts were in her mind as they crossed the state line that Chandler had glanced over to Jo, turning off the radio as he pulled over into a petrol station.

"Do you need anything?" he asked, turning his head towards her. When Jo had said "no", he replied, "OK, well neither do I. Except, that I really feel that there is some things we need to talk about."

Joanna had turned her head to look at Chandler, who's smile was reassuring. Yes. They did need to talk, and it was important, she agreed, silently.

"We'll be in Marshall in a coupla hours," Chandler explained. "And Newtown is beyond that. You suggested that you move in - "

Joanna looked back at Chandler, thinking that it was a good move to begin the talk pragmatically – it was something she always did when there was something she needed to say but didn't know how to go about it.

"Listen, Chandler. Can I first say, how grateful I am that you gave me your ticket with Joey. You are a very good friend, and I was able to surprise James and Timothy, and show my family I was well. And my mum was right: New York is the most beautiful city in the world."

"And, so - " Chandler leaned forward a little.

"And it has been wonderful," she continued, breaking him off, smiling again, "although your friends phoning up the hospital where my husband is being cared for was a big shock, I can tell you. But I came back because I realised that a friend who had done all that for me would not be concerned with the circumstances of my husband's care at the end of his life, or the potential end of anything anyone can do for him at any rate, and so..." Joanna broke off, realising she was gabbling away, and looked out of the window for something to look at which would calm her down, before she said anything stupid.

"I did suggest I move in," she said at length, to the window, "but I would be very grateful if you could drive me back to Marshall."

Jo could feel his disappointment even without looking at him. A whole day had gone by, and a few hours for the man to rest, and the afternoon was looking bright, but cold, the wind whipping at the hedges which surrounded the gas station, hurrying clouds along.

"But, when you get your things together, you'll call me, right, and you'll let me drive you to my place with it all?" Joanna turned, looking into eyes which betrayed a certain desperation. "As a friend, with whom you welcomed in the New Year; you said you would like to pay me rent to live in the apartment – that's about as business-like as I can think of between two people might share a place to live, right?"

"Look," she said, smiling to hide the boldness that she was so unused to using when being direct, "about last night..."

"I was so pleased to see you," he justified, leaning one arm against the back of his car's chair. "And it was New Years, and you have to kiss the first person you see on New Years...I kissed Joey once, and...I am sorry that your family is so far away. And - " he frowned, "...New Years' wish?"

"Yes?" she replied. "I heard the TV playing Rabbie. Burns?"

"Rabbie Burns?"

"Auld Lang Syne? I thought everyone knew about making a wish at midnight...for the New Year to come?" Chandler shook his head. "First footing?" she asked. "With the coal?"

"Too late for that; we've already gone through Pennsylvania," he replied. "But, I tell you something, if it's fossil fuels you want, I can get you all you need when we get to work tomorrow." He grinned, and Jo laughed, appreciating the joke. "I'm sorry about your husband, for what it's worth...your marriage..."

"Chandler, look," Jo said, smiling. "I am sorry about yours, too. I could tell there was a lot of history between you. And whatever arrangement you've made with her for the upkeeping of your children has kept you away from them all. I can understand you split up when you didn't see each other any more." But this time it was Chandler who looked away, turning to the driver's side window.

"I haven't been entirely honest with you, Joanna Lucas. I let her down, me: Chandler Bing, who promised in front of everybody never to hurt her." He pinched his eyes with his fingers for a second. "I loved her so much; I _still_ love her, you know?" Jo put her hand soothingly on his shoulder. "And I drank...not much at first...but then, you know, each night, after work...looking back, it just grew and grew out of hand, and then, I was hit by a bus - " Jo put her hand to her mouth and gasped, but before being about to ask about that, Chandler continued,"not much, but a broken ankle. I got addicted to...painkillers. I wasn't there when she needed me, when her business failed, I was in California, making money with Microsoft."

The silence which followed enveloped both people in the Ford, on its way to Newtown, North Dakota, driving into their own thoughts.

"People make mistakes, said Jo at length, quietly, still rubbing his shoulder like she used to do with Timothy when he had one of his meltdowns over something seemingly innocuous. "And anyone who has eyes can see how much she still loves you."

"She's engaged to be married," Chandler replied, emphatically, to the glass in the window.

"Huh? And you think you are the first person to run in at the last minute to stop a wedding? Have you told her you love her, Chandler?"

Chandler nodded. "But it was just in the past tense, you know, and in the future tense, such as, "what might have been, as I still love you"..."

"Then, it's not over," Jo concluded, soothingly.

"It's over." He turned from the window, his face pinker and rather more angst-ridden than before, from the effort, it seemed, of making sure that he didn't cry. "That guy, Richard," he continued, as Joanna nodded, empathetically, "even the night before I proposed he told her he had never stopped loving her."

"But, didn't she choose you?"

"She chose me. She lit a ton of candles and proposed to me, or tried to," he recalled, wiping at his face the tears he had been trying to dam. "And so I helped, and we kinda proposed together. But then I messed up...she had gone away after she lost her businesses; she sent me divorce papers."

"Sometimes divorce papers are a desperate sign of loss – maybe if you had called her and asked her for another chance?"

"Then?" Chandler laughed through his tears at what, to him, was a ridiculous scenario. "No. I hadn't even admitted to myself I had a problem, let alone checked into rehab. No. I couldn't have," he concluded, using his sleeve as a tissue. "It's long past. And," he looked over to Jo, pointedly, "complicated."

Yes,thought Jo. Complicated. But at least it would be less complicated at the beginning of February. Whatever was causing them to want to be in each others' company, lust it was not; attraction? Well, only on a "meeting of minds" level. When she left to go home he would just be "someone she worked with."

"Can I ask?" began Chandler, changing the subject. "Your husband...?" Now, it was Jo's turn to well up, her emotion, unbidden, wreaking havoc on her auto-responses.

"He is still my husband," she stated, "'Til death do we part." She felt a slight trickle of a tear by her eye, but did not care. "I loved him, Chandler," she said, tears stinging in her eyes as she forced herself not to cry. "I love him. All I have left to honour him with is my living the best life I can for our boys and myself, so that if he were ever to wake up, he would tell me I've done the right thing, rather than being angry for sending him out."

"Hey," Chandler said, as tears really came this time, and leaned over for a hug, and she felt herself go limp in his embrace. "What a pair we are, eh?" She nodded into his chest through a haze of emotion before pulling away after an appropriate moment of time.

"Thank you, for the kiss at New Year," she said, taking his hands. "I was glad to see the New Year in with you, Chandler Bing. And I'm saying this now because I didn't want you to think...don't want you to think..."

"Ah no," he said, as casually as he could manage. "It was New Year, and now we are just Chandler Bing, Software Manager and Joanna Lucas Deputy Engineering Project Manager, work colleagues, friends." Jo nodded, relieved that she had managed to get through that without any unnecessary awkwardness. But oh, she thought to herself, as she thought about her own situation and compared it to his. "And Ross' and Jack's apologies were sincere enough?"

Jo nodded. It was nothing, not compared to the sometimes living hell she was in, although that had ebbed a lot since Mark's accident, five years before. Chandler could do something about that, if he wanted to – Monica was still alive and walking and talking. Perhaps, if he thought about it, if he believed it could work, he might be brave enough to forgive himself. At least she was around to accept the apology, or not: compared to her own situation, that might be rather liberating, compared to not ever being able to apologise, or have a chance to be redeemed for her mistake.

"So, Marshall, English? Or Newtown?" he said, pulling Jo out of her self-made misery. "Shop?" he added. Jo shook her head.

"Can I think about it for a while?" she said, as he pulled out onto the deserted freeway.

"Yeah," he agreed, "we've still got three hundred miles to go. But, if we get to see the gas flareoffs we know your time's up and we'll be in Marshall." He clicked on the CD player, resting an arm on the windowsill as he got up to speed.

"Chandler?"

"Hm?"

"If I do choose your place, can I throw the Beastie Boys out of the window?"

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It was funny pulling into Marshall that evening of New Years' Day. A new year and the place was deserted. Chandler pulled the car over from the highway to the rough, half-mile track at the bottom of which Caravan City was located.

She had pretty much made up her mind: Chandler's offer had been sensible and made out of kindness. Neither of them had any reason to believe that anything nefarious would happen between them, and Jo was certain that company for one another would be a good thing, for the remainder of the five weeks that she was there. If only he hadn't kissed her, though: she felt guilty enough about her husband, she always had, and this had only served to extricate that guilt from her cerebellum and into her conscious mind.

The caravans seemed lonely and abandoned: they were abandoned, in one sense, as the sometime temporary workers had left to be somewhere that was less bleak and run-down. As Chandler drove carefully down the bumpy road, she looked ahead: the door of her caravan was still barred, as she had left it, however had anyone been determined enough they could easily have gained entry. Jo thought that she wouldn't like her worst enemy to have to live here.

"Thank you," said Jo, as he pulled up to the van. "Give me five minutes, OK?"

Chandler's face beamed. "You'll move in?"

"I'll move in," Joanna agreed. "I haven't a lot of things; it won't take me long. And..."

"And...?"

"To be honest I was rather dreading coming back to the caravan."

Chandler waited in the car while Jo got them, looking around the place, as a large pickup doughnutted around the side next to the seven-eleven. He noticed, too, a group of teenagers, and some older men, walking together towards the same shop.

He noticed all of this, Chandler told himself later, because of what happened just after they left. For, two miles west of Marshall the sound like an exploding bomb going off caused him to swerve off the highway, the immediate area lighting up the early evening dusk with enough luminosity for anyone to think it was day. Marshall, they were to find out, was no more.


	11. Chapter 11

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Jo never really believed in fate, and even with these coinciding events to hand still she did not. Something wasn't right, and it wasn't just that Marshall had been blown sky high.

That was Continental's version of events and blame was put squarely by Bob Samuels on environmental vigilantes, some of whom were killed whilst carrying out the explosion, some apprehended at the Continental site, some at Westbury. It had not been the best of returns to work Joanna had ever had and, being drawn together as an organisation in the firm's canteen again, after what seemed like a lifetime since their Christmas party, she stood, listening carefully as the chief executive stated the company's position and a revised plan of restarting the work.

For a charismatic man, Bob certainly looked shaken, no matter how he tried to hide it as he addressed Continental's employees factually, and reassurance. It seemed that a large, co-ordinated attack had been planned to severely disrupt the company's business and, with so much damaged, even put Continental out of business.

Jo had glanced across to Chandler as Samuels spoke, however his back was to her and he did not notice the concern on her face as she relived their journey back to the apartment complex. It had been close to eight that evening when a very shaken Chandler had got out some of the luggage from the boot having got to a deserted car park at the complex; Joanna had just taken in the essentials for the night, plus some work clothes and things she would need for the next day, automatically obeying the protocol in her mind that tomorrow she would be doing what 3rd January expected of her despite logic, which would have come to an altogether different conclusion: to go to work and do her job. And it had been only on their drive to work the next morning that Jo actually wondered whether there was actually a work to go to and she had called Nathan Daniels' number on the way.

"We are all expected in, as usual," her boss confirmed, after they had exchanged brief pleasantries. "Looks like IT will have a mountain to do to keep everyone up and running after this; it wasn't a near-miss, like last time: we have no engineering building; the main drill is out of action and there's a huge hole in the car park." And it seemed so. Technical had been the last department to attend the meeting: Jo had watched him lead in his team, concern on all of their faces, and Kathy Allen, from the analytical section of engineering had nudged Joanna as they stood close to one another, trying to discuss something which seemed very important to them.

"The terrorists were very well informed and attacked when our sites were at staffed at the lightest," Bob continued, "but we shall come back from this, as we did last time. We are operating within our rights to serve the people of this country with cost-effective fuel. How many people on reduced circumstances...the elderly...families...youngsters just starting out...they would be in so much difficulty if it weren't for us. Our business gets up someone's nose. But, as long as we are providing a service to this country, to the disadvantaged, then I shall keep right on doing it. Who's with me?"

A great cheer erupted from the workers; shouts of "right on!" and "yeah!" filled the room as colleagues nodded, hugged and high-fived one another. It was a rousing speech and definitely, Joanna considered, one which was needed to inspire the workforce. Jo had often wondered when those golden-tongued within a corporation were ever needed and, she decided, that it was at times like these, to soothe raw nerves and invigorate a sense of camaraderie. A lot of of the workers, especially working outside with the plant machinery lived in Marshall and would have to find alrwenative accommodation and it would be tough for them and their families if they had once originally chosen Marshall, being the cheapest, it was unlikely they could afford anything else through Continental.

And so work began again; the Westbury shale was beginning to be drilled with copious quantities of oil and even more gas. That was something – Continental had raw. Joanna had a place to stay, and had made it back to Caravan City just in time. And, more importantly, she and Chandler had left just in time so that meant they were not amongst the casualties that night.

Nathan held the door for her as she stepped outside with her colleagues returning back to the engineering department. "At least it wasn't here again, although God knows they tried," he said, conversationally. She nodded as they walked silently across the site. The next five weeks were going to be nothing if not eventful.

Had the Joanna who was about to board the plane from Sloulin International Airport on 12th February recalled herself thinking that, she may well have shook her head in disbelief.

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"...and the Gruffalo just snored and snored and snored - " Jo broke off as the door of the apartment closed loudly and looked up from the phone. It was lunchtime on the second weekend of January, Continental returning, as predicted by its CEO to normal. She looked down at her phone and then in the direction of the door, having just read Timothy his bedtime story.

"Listen, can you put on your Aunty for me?" she asked him as three thousand miles away he yawned down the phone. Chandler raised a hand silently, putting down a brown paper bag of groceries quietly onto the kitchen counter.

"All well?" she asked Frances, who confirmed it was.

"They have a sort of calendar where they're crossing the days off for you coming back, Jo," Frances said, before adding, "yes, of course another one, look Jo," she added, "I'm down as their carer til you get back– do you want me to go to their parents' evening? Or will you see their teachers when you're home?"

"You go, and if there's anything else I can speak to them later." She nodded her head as Chandler picked up a diet Coke from his shopping bag and held it in her direction. After saying a quick goodbye to her sister, Jo took the drink.

"You making lunch?" asked Chandler, glancing at the oven. "I can't remmeber the last time this oven had actual food in it that wasn't pizza. Never, I think."

"That's why I had trouble finding a dish," replied Jo, crossing over to the oven and looking in through the glass. "I ended up using the one which Mrs Robertson from the Marshall store gave me the meatloaf in." She looked back at Chandler, who was busy unpacking his own groceries, "I must give that back to her; I've had it such a long time."

"What're you making?"

"Shepherd's pie. The store was out of beef."

"With real shepherds?" he asked. "Don't their hats and crooks get stuck in the throat?" Jo smiled at him widely, to indicate she knew he had joked. She was glad she had agreed to move in with him in the end, and glad she had made the decision before Marshall was blown up by environmental terrorists: they got on well, and it wasn't awkward like it might have been. Jo put it down to the heart to heart they had had on the way home. He still loved Monica; that was now very obvious. And yes, he was like a brother, prone to joke-telling and easy for her to get along with.

"Yes. The police will be here soon looking for me on murder charges," she replied. "Their first clue was the herds of lambs blocking up country roads."

"Plead guilty," Chandler continued, "cos you know you're baaaaaad."

"That _was _a bad one," Jo replied, turning off the oven. "Want some?"

"Now you've offered," said Chandler, "I'd love to. But I wouldn't want anyone to think that I'm concealing the evidence." He walked over to her and looked in the oven. "It smells delicious. I could be tempted. What's in it? As well as, of course, shepherds."

"Lamb," replied Jo, using a teatowel to take out the pie and putting it carefully on the work surface. "Lamb in gravy with vegetables at the bottom, then topped with mashed potato. I apologise in advance though," said Jo, taking out another plate from the cupboard for Chandler, "I'm not the best cook on the planet. Though my boys like it."

"And that was them on the phone?" asked Chandler, taking his plate and some cutlery from the rack over to the table. "Your family are well?"

"Yes," Jo replied, following him. "The boys have a countdown calendar for me coming home."

"Sweet," said Chandler, taking his fork in his left hand and using it like a spoon to scoop up the pie. "And this is good."

"You don't have to say that just 'cos I'm sitting here," she replied, frowning. "It's a little overdone, I'm sorry." He looked up at her.

"No, it's fine. Anyway," he added, "I'm sorry I've had to work late this week – we've had a lot to do with the drill programming – all of the data I configured before Christmas needs to be redone as the board want us to begin in a different place."

"Oh?" That was news to her, although Nathan didn't report everything to them immediately. Engineering saw the start of any new prospective development and also the end, analysing rock, gas and oil samples to inform the work and certify the raw. However, Chandler working late was not the reason she hadn't come up to his office to wait for a lift back to the apartment. It was more that she felt embarrassed by the last time she had come up and she didn't want any of Chandler's work colleagues, especially Steve Silverman, who knew her from the company induction, to pass comment along the lines of "English Prig" either to her, or to Chandler. She hadn't so much kept her living arrangements a secret, even to Kathy, who had asked in the spirit of compassion – she knew Jo lived at Marshall – but Jo wasn't exactly advertising the fact either.

"We're starting five miles further west than we thought," he continued between bites. "I've got to go to the New York State site to look at their programming data next Wednesday for a coupla days, once I've got ours straight. Our, or well, should I say, my programme has been commended and is being used as an example to all of our sites - "

" - that's great! - "

"So, will you be alright by yourself for a few days? I'm planning on going down to the city to see Jack. He's understudying on Saturday night, which might mean he'll be on stage then too. I wanna give him my support."

"That's great," replied Jo, "Yes. No problem. There's security here – the security at Marshall was shockingly lacking - " Chandler grinned before scooping up the last bit from his plate. "There's a bus to work, and one to town. I'll be able to walk around here singing teeny-bop songs in just my undies - "

"Just kidding," she said, laughing to herself at the ludicrous idea as she finished off the last of her food. Chandler grinned in disbelief at what he'd heard her say. "It'll be Nirvana."

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It was a week later and Jo was feeling decidedly lonely. It was surprising how you got used to someone being around and she was noticing the lack of Chandler now, after he had flown east to Wayne County, New York on Wednesday night.

She hadn't danced in her underwear. She hadn't done anything outrageous at all, or anything even boringly normal. Instead, Jo had just spent the last two days going to work, analysing rock samples, getting analytical reports from the lab and cross-referencing them on a large map of the Bakken and gone back to the apartment again. It was only now, a week later, that she realised she was waking up in Chandler's apartment alone.

Newtown called, and once she had done an "E.T." and phoned home, the boys having now got back from their swimming lessons as it was late afternoon in England, Jo decided it was time to go and see what the town offered. She had gone through it several times, for that was the bus route to work, and had noticed a bank, a post office, several thrift shops as well as a Walmart and other grocery shops.

The bus dropped her off half an hour later outside Walmart and, without looking where she was going, stepped on a person's foot.

"Hey, why don't you watch where you're going?" said a woman's voice. Jo turned to apologise profusely – she was looking around her so much she really wasn't looking where she was going, and looked into a face she knew.

"Mrs Robertson?" she asked the cross lady, looking down at her foot. "I'm so sorry, how clumsy of me."

"Dear?" she asked. "Is that you? Miss Lucas? From the trailer park?"

"I still have your meatloaf dish," said Jo, rather randomly. "But...Marshall..."

"Luckily, we have a house here in Newtown," replied Sarah Robertson, looking round and smiling towards an elderly gentleman who Jo took to be Mr. Robertson. "The shop and all is gone," she said, "but luckily we were staying with Sandra and her family down in Bismarck. It's really quite terrible," she added, "but predictable."

"Who's this?" asked Mr Robertson, looking over to Joanna and taking off his spectacles. "Do we know her?"

"She's Miss Lucas, dear," Mrs Robertson replied, "she lived in a trailer in Marshall. She's English." Mr Robertson looked at Jo, then looked her up and down.

"Well, I never," he replied, looking back to his wife and putting back on his spectacles. "She don't look Amish."

"English, Robert, dear, ENGLISH!"

"English?" he looked at her again. "English? Tell her we don't want any! We fought a war to stop English...redcoats...like her..." he trailed off into silence, still staring at Jo, hostilely.

"Ignore him, dear," soothed Mrs Robertson. "He gets funny ideas. Are you going anywhere in particular? I was born here, you know. My father was a farmer." She turned to her husband. "So was his. Our farms neighboured one another, just north of Bismarck. Long sold, you know," she added. "He didn't want to farm; neither did I. We worked hard for our land, we did."

"Yes," nodded Jo, listening. There wasn't much else you could do when an older person began to talk. She would be like that, one day. In fact, Jo thought to herself, as Sarah Robertson continued to tell her how they wanted to begin a shop because it was indoor work, she was already like that – she could hear herself with her eldest, giving examples, telling longer-winded stories about her life than used to about things she thought mattered.

"So, you can claim your seven-eleven on your insurance?" prompted Jo, feeling Mr Robertson still staring at her suspiciously.

"Yes," conceded Mrs Robertson, patting her headscarf in place. "But it'll never be the same, if we do ever open up another one, it won't be what we've worked on for sixty years. And, you know, thinking about that explosion, I just wonder, do we even want to? I'm seventy seven now, dear. And Robert's a year older."

"What?" Robert Robertson leaned forward, as if his wife was now about to get herself in cahoots with the one-woman English invasion party.

"We-don't-want-to-begin-our-shop-again..." emphasised Sarah, to her husband, "although," she added, sotto voce, leaning towards Joanna, "I told you before that it was expected. Environmentalists, like your company says? Pah!"

"You don't think so?" asked Jo, intrigued. So if not environmentalists, who did they think did it?"

"No, environmentalists," insisted Sarah Robertson, "or at least, not on their own. Encouraged by a lot of greenbacks..."

"Greenbacks?" asked Jo, confused.

"You know," she said, pointing to her handbag, "greenbacks...money! The man from Exxon was flashing those around a lot in our shop. I told him to go away – we wouldn't be bought." She pulled nearer Joanna, a triumphant smile on her face. "They think that we are deaf and dumb when they come to our shop. They think that we do not hear what they say even when they come in broad daylight. But, you know, it wasn't a coincidence that we got as far away as we could over the holidays..."

"Right," said Jo, nodding in agreement.

"You know it's terrible, dear," she continued, frowning, "there's still people living there, in Marshall, even though the company says that it's uninhabitable."

"Oh, my word!" Jo exclaimed, truly horrified. She knew there was a poverty problem – men working at Continental would have enough money to go out drinking every weekend leaving very little to live on, and worse, their family to live on, unless their wives could get some money off them beforehand. Some families, she deduced, clearly had not got a lot of choice. And maybe would do some things not a little bit immoral to boost up the family finances...

"English?" clarified Mr Robertson again, looking Jo in the eye as if he was trying to work her out. Before Jo could ask Mrs Robertson what she meant by what she had said, about someone from Exxon and buying with greenbacks, a bus pulled up alongside them. The doors opened. A few people from the queue which had formed behind Mr and Mrs Robertson pushed past them and streamed into the bus.

"Well, this is us," said Mrs Robertson, as her husband went to join the queue. "Back to Bismarck – it was lovely to see you, dear," she added. "Take care of yourself."

"You both too," Jo added, nodding at the old woman who had fed her when she had lost her purse, and had, on more than one occasion, to Jo's knowledge, stood up to rowdy, lairy, drunken Marshall residents by refusing to serve them. Then added, "your meatloaf dish!" as both ex-store-owners sat down on the assisted seating near the front. 

"Keep it, dear," called back Mrs Robertson, as her husband muttered, "Amish?" as the bus pulled off.

"The man from Exxon and greenbacks," thought Jo to herself, a few hours later and laden down with her fruitful and very cheap shopping trip to the thrift store. The bus going to the apartment complex pulled in as the dusk marched ever closer to night. Lights were being switched on in Newtown, and the town she had never visited, but had stayed in for nearly six hours that Saturday afternoon began to look very pretty.

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"I need a word, Joanna."

It was the third week of January and Jo had been down at the analytical lab checking over the results of a sample of gas extracted from the lower "C" layer at Westbury when her boss had demanded to see her immediately.

In the last fortnight Chandler had come back from Manhattan, beaming in delight over his son's appearance on Broadway, and telling her he had had a great time with Joey, Monica, Ross and Rachel, who had all come over, in the end, to support Jack. Her boss's face did not exactly show that the words were going to be pleasant and he took her right out of the Engineering block before he began the tirade.

"You! I can't believe what you did!" Not only was he not happy but, rather, he was livid. Jo felt her heart sink. What had she done?

"You! Embarrassing me in front of the board!" he shouted, answering her silent question. "Why didn't you tell me that your cross-referencing on your map was loco? You've made me look an idiot! And I wanna know why!"

Jo said nothing for a moment, as she thought over what he had just said – what he had just blasted – at her. Her calculations were incorrect? That couldn't be right. They were lauded for their work by Bob Samuels himself at Christmas; Nathan had got his award for it. Yes, she had done it, and Chandler had been affronted that their team leader was singled out for praise, but -

" - did you do it on purpose, to try to show me up? Because, I know you did the data and I know you were angry you didn't get mentioned at the Christmas roundup...did you think I wouldn't notice, or find out?" He shoved the maps into her chest with force and Joanna took a step back to stop herself from falling over, uncrumpling them.

"I've...I've never seen these before," she said, "not this one, at any rate. _These_..." she said, holding the ones she had worked with on Thanksgiving Day, "are what I used for the proposal. Never seen this one before, Nathan." The growl of dissatisfaction from her boss's throat made her see that he didn't believe her. And yet, Chandler said there'd been errors in his calculations – and she knew that the company had been basing the Westbury data on that which she had originally calculated. Some of the assays from the oil and gas had not yielded as high percentages of fuel as she would have expected, either.

"Well, fix it," he said, "and fast. Herring's orders," he added, bitterly.

"Herring?" asked Joanna, but he pushed her out of the way with one hand.

"Never mind; get on with it, fast, or else..."

Jo didn't wait to ask, "else what?" and she hurried back into Engineering as Nathan Daniels kicked a stone heavily into the closing door.


	12. Chapter 12

Joanna Lucas felt the change in their friendship before she even had the words to express it, nor least, think of how to talk to Chandler, or even if she should. She had three weeks before she left Continental, and the USA for good, and went home, and she didn't think that she could put up with the atmosphere for that long.

It had begun the week he had returned to Newtown, only a little bit at first. She had taken a ride home with him that week – the weather had been cold and it beat thinking about waiting for the bus, but by Wednesday Chandler had said he was working late – and early – and wouldn't be able to give her a lift. When she was up when he got in – which wasn't that often, in actual fact, as her reworking of the map data was tiring her out – Jo felt sure he was avoiding her: there was little exchange of jokes – little exchange of any sort of dialogue at all. She had caught him once or twice looking at her, and then looking away when she had noticed him.

So it was early on the Tuesday of the fourth week of January, her children bubbling with excitement for Burns' Night, because they got "proper haggis at school, mummy", that she decided to get in a little earlier to work and go up to his office in the main block, Chandler having gone to work early again, not that she minded catching the bus at all, it had never been the arrangement that they car-shared, but it was the sudden change in how he was acting.

Scanning her work pass with the security guard, she made it up the three flights of stairs and was about to knock on the door and go in when she heard Chandler laughing.

"Don't be stupid! She's a stuck up, English prig who wouldn't put out even if she worked in a Wendy's drive-through! I wouldn't have her living with me if she were the last person alive." Jo pulled her hand back from the door in shock, hiding it as if it were the cause of what she had heard, before slinking away from the door, shocked.

Was that Chandler talking about her? There was no doubt. Then, another voice, that of Andrew Waterman, Chandler's friend, added, "or dead. Hey, Chandler, maybe then you could screw her – she couldn't refuse you then!"

Jo felt her face redden, feeling shame in her stomach. Chandler, who had practically begged her to live with him and not at Marshall – which was a good call in hindsight – speaking to his friends again about her? He who had been so kind as to persuade his friend Joey, who she had never met before, to part with a ticket to London so she could go home? The Chandler who had searched New York most of one night to find her?

Part of her wanted to charge in there and confront them all, but another part, smaller, yet more compelling, told her not to – no-one would thank her; she would humiliate herself even more – for he would inevitably deny any kindness towards her after what he had just said to his friends – and instead climbed down the aluminium staircase as quietly as she could and let herself out onto the site, walking as fast as she could, her face hot with embarrassment as the cold, January wind stole the heat from her cheeks.

Her day didn't get much better when, just before lunch Nathan demanded to see her again that afternoon, to discuss the progress on the new projected site, with the second area map as a reference point.

"It's nearly finished," said Jo, "I am just waiting for confirmation from data analysis with the geophysical scanning of the rocks. With the new data, I can see that - " but he didn't let her finish. Instead, he pushed her up against the engineering building's outer brick wall.

"Listen, Joanna," he said, through gritted teeth as he bunched up and clutched her overalls, "I need this by tonight – do you hear? Samuels has a notice to fire someone over this and it ain't gonna have my name in it, do you hear?" Joanna tried to breathe slowly. She knew Nathan was quick to temper, but she had never seen him so angry. And clearly he was gunning for her.

"Perhaps if I go to see the board - " she began, but Nathan pushed her back, sharply.

"And make me look a fool again? No!" he declared. "Get this done – today, or you'll have no reference from me when you go back to Merry Old England!" Jo felt her mouth fall open. No reference? It was what she was banking on! It's what would get her the manager's job at Southport! If she left with no reference, not only had she wasted six months of her life, but it would look very dodgy to any future employer that she had no reference for the time she had spent here. They would wonder – quite rightly – what she had done so wrong, and mis-interpretation of data was a pretty lame reason for something as serious as no reference.

"You can't!" she blurted out, feeling her heart beat faster. "I'm entitled to one, by law!"

"So sue me!" bit back Nathan, loosing her clothing, as she breathed heavily. "Get this done, or there'll be no reference, English. And Exxon will be on your ass!" 

"Wh...wh...?" began Jo.

"Nothing!" he growled, then added, "Nothing at all. Tell security you'll be working late; tell them you'll be here all night. I-don't-care! Email me when you're done!"

And with that, Nathan opened the engineering department door, stamped inside and slammed it shut.

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It was late, and she had missed her call home to her boys, that's how caught up in her work she was. All of her colleagues had said their goodbyes around five, Kathy Allen reminding her to not work too late if she was stopping after hours and to log herself in the lone worker book. Good advice, but she had ignored it all as she worked with her desk lamp on, finishing inputting the map references into the computer's modelling programme, a time-consuming job. But at least, approaching midnight, it was nearly finished.

Nearly one a.m. Chandler would be gone back to his apartment now, long since. Not that she felt very much in the mood to ask him for a lift, or ask him for anything much. Eleven days until she went home, and she knew that if he was going to be like that to the end, there was very little she could do about it but bide her time and will the days to pass quickly. It wasn't worth causing a scene. She needed her reference and she needed to get home, those were the only things that mattered.

And yet, there was something not right about all of this. Nathan had been seething, and there was something else, something in the urgency of his harassment of her. What was he afraid of? Humiliation? That was just another name for making errors at work: the board would be able to take it as long as he had a plan in place to correct it. If she wasn't fully informed of the facts, if she hadn't had that second map – which she hadn't – then she could only have done her best with what she had.

It was done now, though. Jo took a big sigh of relief as she typed in Nathan Daniels' address into a new email. Her boss, at least, would be pacified, and she would be able to...get back to the apartment...somehow...maybe a taxi? It was work again tomorrow, so she wouldn't have many hours' sleep, especially if she had to get the bus at seven-thirty.

But it was done, and she could spend the day safe in the knowledge she had her reference, and could continue to help in analytical, where several people had been laid off before Christmas and which had left the department short-staffed, not a good position to be in when a new section of raw had been drilled and samples needed to be analysed.

Jo closed her eyes for a moment, but only for a moment as she saw the light on her phone light up and the device vibrate. It was Chandler. He never called her. Why was he calling her now? She clicked the green "tick" icon, sliding it across the screen and answered.

"Where are you? Do you know what time it is?"

"Hello, Chandler," Jo began stiffly, the defensiveness in her mind not expecting this.

"It's nearly one in the morning...I've...been woworrried about you," he slurred. "Are you sht...shtill...still at work?"

"Chandler. Yes. I'm going to call a taxi. I'll be back soon." Had he been drinking?

"No...no need," he replied, "I'm jushhh jushhht gonna come and get you, see? Then you won't be in ch...tch...trouble. I'll be there...in a while..."

"Chandler, no!" Jo exclaimed, thinking about him driving if he was over the limit. But, it was too late. She tried to call him back, but it was clear the phone was turned off.

Scrambling from her desk. Jo clicked her computer back on, checking that she had actually sent the documents through to Nathan Daniels then, pressing "control-p" on the computer keyboard, printed out the email display. If he ever queried it, she then had evidence she had done what he had asked, and would go over his head, if necessary – she had nothing to lose and that was where her boldness came from. It's a pity she could never fake that, or she would have been a lot more assertive and perhaps not ever been in this situation.

Closing the outer door of the engineering block, Jo looked down towards the main building, looking for the lights that were by the entrance. The night was beautiful, but Jo did not linger to look up at the stars, though she was dimly aware of the methane flare-offs to her right as she strode determinedly towards the building. She would go to the road, and flag Chandler down. If he had been driving having first been drinking...well...she would think of something.

As she got to the main road, looking to her left to see if she could see cars – any cars – one of which might be Chandlers, her mind suddenly pricked into life, like two electrodes in an electrochemical reaction, one like on TV, which had been made to look more sparky, to add interest to the audience. Nathan Daniels had said the strangest thing: Exxon would kick her ass. And Mrs Robertson had said something about Exxon too, something about people being desperate for greenbacks. Was there some sort of connection?

She looked back to the main block on the Continental site. Security still patrolled the site, or so she thought, following the explosion on site in early December...were they there? It was funny, because no-one had, come to think of it, checked on her over at engineering, where she would have expected them to have, considering the on-site explosion had happened right outside the building at the back – in fact there was a huge crater still there, being used as a park for all the heavy plant equipment. And, she knew for a fact that, as she had been working alone, having not registered in the lone worker book, the light on so late in engineering would surely have alerted security to something amiss.

She glanced back over to the building for a few seconds, wondering whether there really was someone inside, keeping order on Continental's site, as they had all been told would be the case from December onwards. Was someone in there? Were they on guard? And what about the site officers?

Just as she was about to go back into the main building Jo turned to the sound of the car that was coming down the road, its headlights flashing. She began to walk towards it, then stopped, backing over to the side. Chandler's car was veering a little from a straight course and she felt her heart beating faster, and her stomach sinking – he must have been drinking to drive like that.

A "crunch" of tyres on concrete and he stopped the car near her, his lights blaring into the darkness. Chandler leaned over to the passenger side door and opened it, trying to fling it, but missing a little and the door clicked closed again. Joanna hurried over and opened the door.

"Taxi for English?" he began, grinning at his own line. Joanna leaned over to her left and inhaled a noseful of beer. Oh dear God. Whatever had possessed him to drink so much? The Chandler she knew stopped at one...or none.

"Yes, but take the key out of the car, will you?" she asked, pointing towards the key. Chandler, either ignoring her, or not taking in her words, put down his foot on the accelerator. The Ford jerked forward, leaping sporadically forward before stalling. Joanna inhaled deeply. She couldn't drive in this country and there was no way in the world she would be letting him drive again until he was sober. She put her hand on his right leg gently and leaned over, looking at him carefully.

"Chandler, can you pull over for a while? Can you park up? There's something I need to talk to you about." He turned to look at Jo, his eyes heavy, and then after a long pause smiled.

"Anything you say, Johhhanna Lucas!" he declared, starting up the car again and driving it to the side of the main building. Looking back, Jo should have realised at that moment there was something wrong at the Continental site, however, in her defence, she was concentrating on making sure Chandler was not in the way, and certainly not caught by the police. But, she supposed later, it was the lack of police, and not being reported by any security, which should have rung warning bells.

When he had finally turned off the engine, Chandler leaned back in his chair, his left arm on the back of his chair, his right arm dangling over her chair.

"So, what do you wanna say?" But before Jo had a chance to Chandler, in his drunken condition, grabbed her right shoulder and pulled her towards him, making for an inaccurate kiss, his lips meeting with her chin.

Jo, not expecting this at all, exclaimed, "Oh!" as Chandler continued snogging her chin, before moving further upwards and, trying to find her mouth, caught her with his left hand, searching all over her clothing until he found - "

"Chandler, gettoff!" huffed Joanna, pushing him away, shocked. "Look," she said, as he frowned at her, dolefully. "You're drunk, see? Did you go to the bar at the complex?"

"Yeah," he admitted, looking at her in the dullness. "I, er...had a drink...a man can have a drink? I don't need you, or anyone else telling me what I can or can't do, with my time, Monica!" he finished, turning away and folding his arms.

"You need a sleep," said Joanna, trying to sound soothing and ignore what he had just said. "So do I. Let's lock the doors and close our eyes for a moment, yes?"

Chandler turned her way a little, before dropping his arms. "Yeah," he agreed. Joanna turned, knowing that the last time she had had a lift from Chandler there was a blanket.

"Try this," she said, "and," she added, proffering him her water bottle, "have a drink of water. It'll do you good," she added, pressing it into his hand. She saw him look at it suspiciously before flicking off the cap and taking a swig.

"There," soothed Jo, feeling her own eyes growing heavy. "It'll soon be morning and you should sl - "But, before she could finish, Chandler had closed his eyes. What had come over him? Jo had noticed he'd been acting a little strangely for a few days, but to rant at her, and...call her by his ex-wife Monica's name...? He'd been acting weird for a few days – had he been drinking? And, if this was what he was like when he was drunk it's no wonder his ex-wife decided to send him divorce papers. He needed support, as well as her, and -

\- too late to wonder any more, as tiredness overcame her, Jo turned over in her seat, not before checking the doors were locked and the windows closed, succumbing to one of the most uncomfortable nights' sleep she had ever had in her life...

88888888

...a sleep which was interrupted by the screech of tyres on the surface of the car park at the front of the building. Jo blinked her eyes, wondering where she was, and what was going on.

It was morning, or at least, her mobile's digital clock was telling her that it was four thirty in the morning, a Thursday morning and she would have to be back at work...over there...she looked in the direction of engineering...in a few hours time.

Jo shivered – it was cold, and looked across to her friend. Chandler was still curled up in the thick woollen tartan blanket, none of which she had shared. Condensation had formed in the window, and outside, frost.

It wouldn't be long until the first of the workforce arrived, and when they did she would check back in to engineering, try to make herself look a little more -

Car doors slammed as her train of thought was derailed. Who would be here so early? Unless it was the security – perhaps Bob Samuels had taken them off night off...had she really missed the memo that had told them that the security were being taken off by anyone, especially since the explosion at Marshall, and -

\- a breaking of glass brought Joanna out of her thoughts and she jerked her head in its direction. And then more, this time followed by a loud hammering.

Nudging Chandler, which did not one bit of good in the slightest, she wound down the window, which did. Her friend murmuring, but then pulled his blanket up a little further.

Taking one last look at Sleeping Bing, Joanna let herself out of the car and into the freezing early morning air. What was going on? Whatever it was, it couldn't have been honest, or else whoever it was wouldn't be breaking into Continental's reception.

Carefully, she crept over the uneven concrete before the building, and peered around the edge of the bricks of the reception building, but there was nothing much to see...until...

...torches beamed out from the door, and with them, Joanna could see that the glass had been shattered in the front doors. She waited, wondering what to do, waiting for the security to come along and look into the matter. But there was no security; there was no help. Which was strange, Jo added to herself, as she leaned back round the corner, staring out at Chandler's car. Bob Samuels had told them himself that he was increasing security.

And then, voices, at least one she recognised. And this voice spoke words which were strange, but connected: "Exxon" and "Herring" spoken, very faintly. Nathan Daniels' voice was indeed faint, and she leaned back round the wall in order to catch more but, while she could hear her boss's voice still, it was indistinct, as if he had gone back inside the building. She peered back round, the winter wind messing up her hair even more.

Looking back to the car now, she saw that Chandler was stirring and hurried over to him, encouraging him to finish his water as the now anticipated hangover (anticipated by Jo, at any rate) was beginning to set in with him.

"Jo!" he said, rubbing his eyes, wearily, and looking around, before glancing down at the car blanket. "Don't say I did anything stupid?"

"Never mind about that now," Jo dismissed him, hurriedly. His having driven under influence of alcohol, and roughly dismissing her thinking she was his ex-wife she pushed to the back of her mind. "I just saw Nathan Daniels and another man break into the reception building," she explained. "He mentioned "Exxon" and "Herring". Chandler!" she exclaimed, demanding his attention on what she was saying. "What does it mean?" Chandler stared at her for a few moments.

"Damned if I know, Exxon are petroleum, I think...and Herring? Not a clue. Unless it's red..."

"No, no," continued Jo, ignoring the joke. "Herring...I've heard it somewhere before..." she stred out of the front windscreen at the building again. The intruders were shining their torches all around in the second floor. She pointed upwards. Chandler turned his head stiffly towards the building. "It's something...something...I've heard it said...the night before that first explosion at Continental, when you came..."

Suddenly, Chandler looked seriously at her. But, before he could insist they leave, Jo got back out of the car, glancing at her work colleague, before heading back into the main building, the winter's wind screaming through her clothes. He was about to call out of the window when he thought better of it, and relieved some of the stuffiness of his head (and the corresponding guilt) by getting out too.

Hurrying after Jo, Chandler nearly tripped on the uneven concrete, but catching himself in time, then picked up his pace again. By the smashed door there could be heard the sound of more smashing, and then some swearing – if Jo were to have to say, it didn't sound like it came from her boss. And then, one of the people came rushing down the stairs, his feet hammering on the aluminium as he came. Jo was about to take a step forwards when Chandler grabbed her shoulder firmly.

"No!" he hissed loudly by her ear. "Wait!"

When the man burst through the fire escape at the back of the building and no security came running over from other parts of the site when the fire alarm began to sound, a light in the lobby flashing rhythmically as the "bee-baaa bee-baaa" noise of the alarm matched its rhythm.

"Come on," said Jo to Chandler. "Do you have your phone?"

"Yeah," he said, pulling it out of his pocket.

"Terrorists!" she hissed back. "You gotta call the police!"

"But why..." began Chandler, but it was to the empty space where Jo had just been standing. Staring in the direction she had...would have most likely have gone, he looked around for her, his head thick and dull from his evening of drinking more than one beer, which had led to countless, and a...drive here...?" Chandler dialled nine-one-one and focused on just what he needed to say, thanking God that he had not had a wrecked car to explain.

Jo had carefully stepped over the door frame of the reception building, the sound of any crunching glass under her feet drowned out by the incessant alarm. Nathan Daniels, she thought, mockingly. So, he had his report – she had just emailed him. He was desperate for the an update...a re-analysis...and was equally desperate for her not to have gone to the CEO.

"You are smart, English...but not smart enough..." Nathan, holding what looked like a can of fuel...marked "Exxon", called over to her, before crossing the lobby and approaching her.

"Jo!" whispered Chandler, but to no avail. And then, "Yes. Police please. Chandler Bing. Well, I believe there is terrorist activity at the Continental site." Another pause. "Because I...we...have seen two intruders..." Another pause, longer this time. "My friend? Oh yes, well," he began, trying to stare in the darkness, a light beaming around through the window and outside. "Well, no," he said, "I paused. I don't know if she's well." After another pause, Chandler pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it angrily. "No, I am not trying to be funny! There's intruders at the Continental site at Newtown. Perhaps the cops would like to show up sometime, as the company has already suffered two major explosions this year." A pause, a little shorter. "Yes, well, thank _you_ for _your_ time!" he exclaimed, before clicking the phone off. He couldn't see anything past the fire alarm and the pulsating fire signal. Which got permanently taken out of commission when a gunshot sounded inside the lobby.

"You have shares in Exxon." Jo had said those words a few moments before the alarm had been killed. But Nathan leaned his head back and laughed. "Shares in Exxon? I own the majority share! In Continental!" Jo stopped before she said something, then stared at the container Nathan had in his hand which had the word "Exxon" stencilled on it.

"Oh this?" he said, throwing it underneath the stairs, a hydrocarbon smell wafting between them. "A decoy. To lead people to the wrong conclusion. And, when Continental failed, and Herring petrochemicals had put in an offer for the Westbury site at knockdown price, Exxon would be in no doubt as to what it would do with the offer Herring has been putting to them on a regular basis. This time, they would accept. And take over Continental." He nodded, kicking an imaginary stone away from himself, innocently.

"You...you've sabotaged your own company?!" gasped Jo, in horror. "Those people killed...in Marshall..."

"Yes, yes, yes," replied Nathan, dismissively. "If they will be too poor to have relatives to visit outta town over the holidays then I'm doing them a favour - " Jo felt her mouth open. She could have been there...she would have been there, had it not been for Chandler first of all insisting she take the flight to London but also them agreeing for her to move into his apartment.

"Oh yes, I know this looks bad, Joanna Lucas, frigid English bitch that you are, "but I am not..." he tailed off..."I'm not going to stand around doing nothing when that bastard Samuels...he's in league with the Russians..paying them off with the profits while he undercuts everyone on cheap ex-soviet stock. He's the terrorist, not me. And besides," he said, nonchalantly, reaching into his pocket, "Exxon are paying me well - Herring is ready to take over, get the company at rock bottom - Continental will dump the place, but then you...you..." he said shaking his head in disbelief, "...decided to have a brainwave and convinced Bob Samuels that you should stay, and I could not convince them otherwise. And then..!" he raised his hands into the air, putting them on his head, "...you offer to redo the work! As you can understand, Jo, I had to play along, and then...destroy the lot. Oh yes!" he said, looking at Jo's horrified face. But then, before Nathan Daniels could say anything else, Jo's trouser pocket began to ring. She grabbed for it instantly and, at the same time, caught a glint of metal from the object Nathan had in his hand.

"Stupid..." he said, levelling the gun at her. "And, strangely, satisfying..." Jo felt herself shiver, as he tried to follow his meaning, not letting the gun out of her sight. "You see now, when I got your report tonight," Nathan continued, in a sing-song voice, his dark hair swishing either side of his pale face, "...how it was I wanted to catch the terrorist, and I've done it...you illegally accessed this building tonight, and...used that can of fuel - " he nodded his head towards the can he had tossed aside. "Now all I need to do is tell the police I knew you were behind it all and came to stop you before you'd blown this place sky high – will you just stop!" he turned, screaming at the fire alarm, that was still going off, moving his arm towards it and firing.

And then, Joanna thought, for the first time, in a few hours' time, and many other times in the future, that she didn't know precisely what she had done. Time felt as if it had slowed to a snails' pace and Nathan Daniels' turning round to the fire alarm seemed to be done in slow motion. And somehow between then and being knocked unconscious on the floor, Jo had felt she was moving through treacle, acting on some sort of instinct.

At that moment, when the gun went off again, Joanna was lying on the floor next to the petroleum can, Nathan Daniels at the other side of the foyer, the gunshot having fired the bullet up to the second floor, where a huge pool of inflammable fuel was suddenly ignited.


	13. Chapter 13

The lights were bright near Joanna's closed eyes, her throat dry and cracked when she heard a calming voice coming from over to her left.

"…and seems to have made an excellent recovery…"

She turned her head to where the voices were coming from, opening her mouth to speak, but no discernible words came out. Then, she tried to open her eyelids, which were heavy and tired.

"Hello," said the voice, which had turned out to be a nurse on shift, reassuring her. "Joanna Lucas, right? You need something?"

And it had been like that for most of the two days she was at the hospital at Newtown, nurses and doctors checking on her, talking a difficulty. Especially with the police.

The police.

It was true they were not like the police at home – their manner very different, more direct and up-front - but she had answered the questions they had of her to the best of her ability, which was not much – Jo remembered not a lot – and could only be sure about some of the events in the run-up to her going into the building, about her still being on site so late at night, about what she did for a living, where she lived.

It turned out that it was a clear-cut case: Steve Silverman had been the man in league with Nathan Daniels – money had changed hands, and Steve had been the man who had run from the reception block. He had also been the man who had come back for Joanna and had got her out from the blaze just in time.

Not so lucky for Nathan, the policeman had explained Jo, when it was clear she remembered none of it, and Steve's sentence would be reduced because of his actions both towards her, his attempt to rescue Nathan Daniels, and the company – he had tried to sabotage the blaze by tipping his fuel container out before he went into the reception building and had run off to call the police.

"Well, I hope you get well, Miss Lucas," the sergeant said kindly. "Going home soon?" Joanna could just about nod. "We won't need you to testify; I have enough here, as Silverman has admitted guilt."

"Oh, OK then," said Jo, her brow creasing.

"Don't worry," said the man, conspiratorially, "the doctors have told me that your company is taking care of the medical bill. Again, unlike home. People didn't know how lucky they were to have the NHS. All hail Bevan.

"And, what about..." she rubbed her head, "...Exxon...?" The cop shook his head.

"We are still investigating."

And then, another day passed and she was told she could go home.

Home.

Wherever that was. She didn't want to think about it. By the sounds of it Jo had been lucky to have got out alive from the explosion and the fire at Continental's reception building, but now, four days after the incident, Kathy Allen being the one person who had come to see her, sorting her out with clothes, personal items, her handbag, which had been found on site and had still contained her purse, mobile phone and keys, and had had with her a long, girly talk, including the fact that she as the talk of the company, she had seen no-one else.

They weren't even that close; the most she and Kathy had done was to have talked about their children and she had a chat about where she could get certain things in town – what Target was, and what Walgreens sold.

There had been an obvious lack of Chandler Bing.

Which is why Joanna, having resigned herself to the fact that she would have to find somewhere to go for the last five days of her time at the company, still wondering as she waited for her taxi in the discharge lounge, was gobsmacked to see the man waiting for her by the entrance as she walked gingerly out.

"You didn't think I'd let you come out on your own now, did you?" he said, taking her bag. When Jo just stared, saying nothing, he added, "seems like you're a hero."

Jo didn't follow him when he made to walk across the car park and she remained standing at the entrance, watching him take her bag fifty yards before he came back over to her.

"What's wrong?" he asked, frowning. "Look, I'm sorry I never got to visit you – I had to sort out my car and go to the hospital myself. Bob Samuels wanted me in to talk about things, you know? Out office is completely destroyed – well, not completely, but..."

Jo said nothing for a moment, considering the events that had led up to that moment. A fortnight ago he had changed, become colder and less open; he had insulted her to his work colleagues, one of whom had been involved in the destruction of the company along with her head of department; he had got drunk, and driven out to find her. He had made her want the days to pass quickly til she could go home.

"Are you coming back with me, English?"

"Yes," replied Jo, then added, "and then, we need to talk."

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"You, a big hero, eh? You made CNN!" Joey Tribbiani's voice was full of excitement as she listened to him on the telephone.

"I made what?" Joanna's phone had gone when they had just got back to the apartment. Chandler had apologised for the fact they hadn't got any groceries in and had asked if she were all right to stay there while he popped out for an hour to Newtown.

"On the news!" Joey clarified. "They don't say your name but they mention Continental and a massive explosion there. Listen – " he broke off from the phone, and the line went crackly. Jo could hear some voices in the background, then Joey said, "I'll get a little closer to the TV – the report's on now – listen!"

Jo couldn't really hear much, but she told Joey she could. He then asked her how she was doing. It was lucky she had not gone to bed or she would never have heard her phone ring.

"All right, considering," said Joanna, mildly, and then felt her voice break up, swallowing to compose herself when she spoke the words that her mind was trying to keep from her as a nebulous cloud at the back of her cerebellum. "That could've been me, Joey," she said.

"I know, I know," he said, kindly. "But you gotta think – it wasn't. Chandler got you out; you got to the hospital."

Jo paused as she ran the sentence through her mind as she sat down uncomfortably on the sofa. Some bruising, and to take it easy, her discharge nurse had told her. And her throat had been damaged by the smoke so to avoid talking at length. So perhaps she shouldn't have been talking so much on the phone – perhaps, she should have just thanked Joey there and then and put the phone down.

"Chandler didn't get me out, Joey," she said, at length, not doing the sensible thing in all circumstances, one of them being not resting her voice. "Some guy who was in it with Daniels came back and got me out."

"Oh. Oh?"

"He did come to get me from work that night after I'd been working late," she said, feeling her mind being relieved of the weight it had been carrying.

"Oh? That's probably what he meant," Joey replied, diplomatically. "So you're back at Marshall, huh?" 

"No, that was blown up by terrorists," she said, "and Chandler and I had a talk on the way back after New Years' and we agreed I would move in."

"Oh, right." Joey' voice was impassive. "So, that night, he came to bring you back to his place?"

"But he was drunk, Joey," she cut in, a little shrilly, putting her hand to her head as part of her mind began to shout at her to shut up now. "But he doesn't drink, does he?"

"I can't help you, Joanna," said Joey, "perhaps you should speak to him?"

"Yes," she agreed.

"And you take care now hero," he added, wishing her well before hanging up. Jo closed her eyes leaning her head against the sofa, closing her eyes and not opening them even after Chandler had got back with some groceries and had begun to make breakfast.

88888888

Had there not been a knock at the door late that afternoon then it would have been likely that Joanna may have slept right through that evening and night. But there had, and it had taken all of Jo's willpower to drag herself out of the realms of semi-consciousness to answer.

"Sir!" she exclaimed, stroking back her "just got up" hair through her fingers and wondering whether she ought to ask Bob Samuels to wait while she got something half decent on.

"May I come in?" he asked, his large, round face forming into that familiar, reassuring smile of his. Jo nodded.

"And you're well?" Bob asked, after Joanna had asked him to sit and he had politely refused a drink from the selection she'd offered.

"I have some...bruising, and a sore throat," she said, waving in its direction, and the CEO of Continental nodded in sympathy.

"I'm sorry to drop by unannounced," he continued, leaning forward towards her, "and I can see I have just woken you. I wanted to tell you in person how grateful we all are for your quick-thinking action preventing any further damage than was already done."

Jo watched Bob's face contort as he spoke to praise her, and she nodded along, only half listening.

"So," he concluded after a short time, "it would be good for us to reward you for what you did."

"I'm applying for a project manager job at Caudrilla - I just need a reference," said Jo, immediately, her features betraying her sudden interest in the conversation again. Bob Samuels fell silent. Oh no, that'd done it! Joanna screamed at herself wordlessly. I dared to ask for a reference – I asked too much, clearly.

And then the CEO of Continental, giving one more look at his deputy project manager of engineering beginning to laugh, big, hearty Father Christmas laughing, and kept on laughing.

When Jo couldn't stand the tension any more she felt herself ask testily through the beginning of a headache, "May I ask why you are laughing? I feel, under the circumstances, that I should get one. I did work hard on this project."

"I was laughing," he said, still the ebbing of a laugh in his cheeks, "because, if you will excuse me, Mrs Lucas, it seems such a trivial thing you ask for - don't you want, say, money? Promotion?"

"Well, I'd like to make sure I am paid my wages in full for the month. And the reference will help with my getting promotion within Caudrilla"

There. She'd said it. And with that, sat down on Chandler's sofa, steeling herself not to back down on the wages, even if she had spent three days in hospital, and no deductions. Bob Samuels smiled.

"Yes, of course. And we will be paying for your flight home. It has been a nasty business, Mrs Lucas, and the CIA are looking into any involvement from our friends at Exxon - although I am sure they will find none.

I am grateful to you, I have had a certain Chandler Bing at my door, insisting you be recognised for, amongst other things, the Westbury raw" Joanna felt her mouth fall open. "Is this true?"

"Yes, sir, it is," she replied, truthfully, conscious of the fact that she was so badly dressed she was talking to her boss's boss's boss about her work.

"So, then," he bent towards her, looking grave, "I am afraid your reference is out of the question!"

"But, sir!"

"Unless," he continued, "you take the position of engineering project manager for the remainder of your time with us. Now, that will be something to put on your resume!"

Joanna felt a warmth spread across her body, starting from her chest. Of course she would take the job. It would put her head and shoulders above everyone else.

"Although I don't think you'll need it," Bob added, "my secretary called Nick Davis's secretary and recommended you without exception." He waited patiently as the the news sank in. Joanna felt her face crumple, in disbelief, wanting to hug him,but remembered just in time to remain professional. Instead, she took his un-proffered hand all the same.

"Thank you, Sir," Joanna said, standing up, her body aching, but her mind not caring.

"No, thank you," he said, getting to his feet too. "You should have had that award at Christmas, not Daniels. We wish to celebrate your success as an exchange worker. We owe you our business, Joanna Lucas; we owe you everything!

"If I am up to it, may I begin my new job tomorrow?" she asked, her eyes sparling.

"When you do return – and yes, you may, if you feel you can, you must present your version of events to the board. The police may not need you but that we have had a discussion with you, the insurance company, however..."

"I understand," said Jo, nodding though she felt nervous about the board. But, before she could discuss anything more, Jo asked, "Sir, there is something else."

"Yes?" pressed the large-built Chief Executive Officer when she had not elaborated for a good minute.

"I was staying, for most of my time here in a caravan in Marshall. The trailer park."

"Yes," nodded Samuels, "a nasty business. It's in ruins."

"Yes, exactly," said Jo, getting to the point. "I was grateful for the accommodation being good value, but I knew that I wasn't going to be there indefinitely.

"The trailers are being replaced. You needn't worry about the people living in Marshall."

"Rebuild Marshall?" asked Jo, aghast, thinking about the dirt roads, which were not safe to walk along the minute dusk arrived until well after dawn; how people were harassed in broad daylight – young children could not walk the streets; very young vulnerable teenage girls had been approached by large gangs of men, one had been murdered.

"We have business to pursue. A lot of people are going to get to keep their jobs because of you," he added. "They will be grateful of the work."

"But the trailers...the area," Jo interrupted, "...it's not safe for families, young girls, little children. Why, you have a daughter yourself, Sir - imagine not being able to let her go out for milk for fear of having someone harassing her every time? Cars tear around the place and while the families look after their young children, one day I can see a horrible accident happening, so - " Jo took a deep breath. "Take anything you might have wanted to have given me. Make that place suitable for people," said Jo. "Can you do that?"

"You are very forthright in your views, Mrs Lucas. But I hear your concerns. Leave this ,matter with me and I will look into the security of my workers. Keeping them safe and healthy means I get a better quality workforce."

"Like Cadbury," nodded Jo, the words under her breath being caught by Bob Samuels.

"Cadbury?"

"Joseph Cadbury. A chocolate maker near where I grew up. And others like him during the Victorian era. Built houses for his workers; built parks and entertainments for them. And he got more work out of them when he did."

"And, you leave us in three days," he clarified. Jo nodded.

"Then here." He handed her the first-class tickets from Sloulin, change at JFK for a flight back to London Heathrow. .

"I...I can't accept this!" she felt her mouth say as she stared down at the ticket. When he said he'd be paying for her flight home, she never imagined this.

"You will, Mrs Lucas," his rounded tones reverberated around the apartment, smiling, "that is an instruction from CEO to project manager. Goodbye. I'll leave you now, I am sure you need more rest than you let on." His hand was on the edge of the doorframe before Joanna spoke again.

"May I just say, sir, that there are several reasons why I did not want to come here in September: I needed to stay at home with my family to look after them, for one; I would not be near my husband, who is being cared for in what is now the end of his life, and risk never seeing him again. But had it not been for you, and Mr Stevens, embodying the principles that you have on your website...what I mean to say is, Continental is as you say, friendly, family-orientated – a community. And I want to say that...yes – you are. I look forward to hearing about your new Bourneville at Marshall, and I wish you well with Westbury."

"Then we will see you tomorrow, Mrs Lucas," said Bob Samuels, his hand out, which Jo took. "We have a temporary building where the front offices once stood, though engineering is still as it was. As project manager, you will report to Jeff Stevens at 8am."

"Yes, sir." And, had not Chandler Bing arrived back from work himself, his face changing from relaxed to alert at the sight of Bob Samuels, their CEO might have left.

"English!" He said, seeing Joanna first, swinging a brown paper grocery bag in her direction. "I stopped off in Newtown. Didn't know what tea to get you so I got them all – oh! Hello, sir!" Chandler, stiffening in Samuels' presence

"How is your accommodation for the LIM?" asked Bob, smiling at his engineering programmer.

"Cramped," laughed Chandler. "But the explosion did very little real damage to the software and we'll have the hardware up and running by the end of the week."

"Good, good. I'll hold you to that, Bing." Breaking off, he looked between the two of them for a good half a minute.

"And I want to thank you, Bing, for enlightening us on aspects of Miss Lucas's work that we were not aware of." And, turning to Jo, added, "I am sorry about your husband."

"Oh, one more thing," said Bob Samuels, as he had taken a few steps down the hall, before turning back, finger raised as if the "one more thing" had just occurred to him, then turned his large, round face to Jo. "It seems your reputation as a prig is entirely undeserved" Jo felt herself pinking,

"Thank you, sir," she replied, not knowing what else to say, and then added, "and thank you about the promotion." Samuels smiled, then glanced at Chandler.

"Oh, and by the way, if I knew who had started that rumour, Bing, you might be as well to kick his ass"

88888888

The talk came.

Once Bob Samuels had finally left, he and Jo closed the door to the apartment, instructing her to rest, as per hospital instructions and cooked a casserole from scratch in Mrs Robertson's meatloaf dish

"Thank you," said Jo, as she bit into a piece of it, an hour later, the hot potato hurting her throat as she ate. It was only once they had finished and she had insisted she wash up that, from the sink asked him, "So, are you going to kick your own ass, Chandler?"

"What?" He turned, from the sofa, frowning deeply, putting down his local newspaper.

"I heard you," she continued, putting down the dishcloth. "The morning of the night of the explosion - I came up that morning and I heard what you said to Andy Waterman and..."

"Yes," he said, looking down. "Look, leave that, why don't you? I think we need to talk about a few things." Jo crossed over the floor, not sitting immediately, but instead folded her arms in front of her, though felt a little mean about it considering the dinner he had just made for her. Then she gingerly sat on the floor, her back against the settee, refolding her arms. Chandler slid down next to her.

"Can you explain why it is that a police officer told me that it was Steve Silverman was the one who got me out? And," she added, a part of her feeling really bad, "you were drinking?" Chandler shifted uncomfortably next to her, although it was probably the hardness of the floor.

"What's going on, Chandler?" she said, when he had said nothing. "Is it something I said? Or did?"

"No, it's not you, it's me."

Classic, thought Jo, trying to look calm but feeling actually rather angry at being fobbed off with that old chestnut. "Do you want to talk to me about it?"

Chandler got to his feet and strode towards his room. Jo turned to see the back of him retreat, but then her work colleague turned back and stared at her for a moment, before stepping away from the sofa, turning his back, and putting a hand over his mouth for a second, clearly agitated.

Here it comes, Jo thought. Be brave. It's only four more days til she could use her first-class ticket home, which Bob had so kindly given to her, and if she called Continental, she was sure Jeff Stevens would know of somewhere she could go til then, or out her onto someone who would, and. then..

"I miss her, Joanna," Chandler said simply. "Monica. I still love her, and I always will. We met up when I went to see Jack at his premiere performance. It was like old times, no awkwardness, no bitterness there. She was wearing the earrings I gave her for Christmas."

That would do it, thought Jo.

"I love her so much, you know? But she's marrying Richard." He paced the floor behind the sofa. "I never stopped loving her." Then, he leaned over to Jo, who was craning her neck up at him, and then swung himself down beside her, as the burden of the confession was gone from him.

"Look, I didn't want to say anything to the police – I've been going through a bad patch – a terrible patch, for a long time. It started...way back, before we broke up, gotta be over ten years ago..." he looked away, but didn't stop speaking, "...I was on my way to work, and one day, I wasn't sober enough to drive to work, and I hit two people, I nearly killed them. And you think I could stop myself?" When Chandler turned back there were tears in his eyes. "I was an alcoholic then; I still am if I drink for the wrong reasons. If only I could turn back the clock and get our years back! But now..."

"You could get back together, Chandler," said Jo, soothingly, rubbing his shoulder. "You could tell her how you feel - "

" - I already did," he interrupted. "Our lives are so different now – even if we wanted to get back together we have grown apart. Too many things have changed – even my office – I liked my office, Jo. No, I;ll get a transfer somewhere else while they get the building sorted. My life seems to be here, in Newtown, North Dakota." He looked across to Jo, who's eyes were beginning to grow weary and who was on the verge of calling it a night whether Chandler had finished or not.

"I'm sorry for how I behaved to you, Joanna Lucas," he said. "Ihow's about I kick my own ass in the morning?"

88888888

"So," said Joey, who had called Chandler from the Lyric at the end of the "Cursed Child" that evening. "How's it all going? You hero, you. You and...the English pr- Joanna," he corrected himself quickly.

"She's gone back to bed. Stupid thing said she'd be going in to work tomorrow, though what use she will be still so battered after what we went through...she got herself promoted though, now that her boss got himself blown up. He caused it, Joe," Chandler added.

"You got her out," interrupted Chandler, stiffly. "She'd been working late, too late and I came to get her. She shares my work apartment, remember?"

"No you didn't, say," Joey replied, though he knew that he knew already as he had spoken to Joanna.

"No," agreed Chandler. "And I didn't get her out at the time it mattered. But I would have, if I had not been..."

"Been what?" asked Joey, who knew the answer anyway.

"Worse for wear. Anyway, it's only for another two more days."

"Then she's going home," continued Joey, "how are you feeling 'bout that?"

"I'll miss her," said Chandler, simply. Then, changing the subject, asked, "have you seen Monica recently?"

"No, not recently," Joey replied. "but you know she's not marrying Richard any more? Chandler?" he added, when his friend had not spoken for what felt like a long time.

"Oh." That's all Chandler Bing could think to say, but he could feel the elation begin to permeate his entire body, like a weight had been lifted from his chest and excitement began to buzz through every one of his nerves.

"And Jack is going good?"

"Yeah, yeah, listen," said Joey, "Jack's impressed the management in London with his performance – he had a conference call with his role's actor and he aced it. He's going to England to play his part, and understudy for Albus Severus's role."

"Wow, that's great!" exclaimed Chandler, "though, London, Joe?"

"Well, no, not exactly. They're opening the play in Manchester and he is going to be leading some of the rehearsals!"

"Well, put him on, will you, Joe?" At the other end of the line, Joey Tribbiani shook his head.

"Can't. He got off just before I called you. But he can call you tomorrow – could you pretend you don't know? He's really excited to tell you.

When his uncle Joey had put down the phone, Jack Bing glared at his godfather, waiting.

"You called her? Mom?" Jack asked, pulling on his trousers ready for the Friday matinee.

"Yes."

"And you called Dad?" Joey looked at him, nodding.

"Like you heard. And I didn't get much of a chance to talk to him about Monica. This explosion is pretty serious, Jack – both of them could've died in there."

"Well, perhaps it would be better if it had been the English prig!" he snapped, pulling on his own trousers, stretching out his arms at the shoulder, one by one.

"Hey, that's no way to speak about anybody!" Chandler chided, handing Jack his shoes.

"Mom and Dad would have got back together," he replied, combing gel through his white-blonde hair. "Dad could be here, in New York, not some hick town a day's drive away.

"There's no guarantee of that, Jack. You can never tell what the future will be like."

"Well, they would have," Jack continued, forcefully, pulling on his coat in the dim dressing room light, a jangle of keys hinting that the caretaker wanted them out as fast as possible. "He would be alone and she could tell him what she wanted to tell him at Christmas..."

"Which was what?" asked Joey, dismissively, getting to his feet. But, what Jack was about to say made him stop, and turn in astonishment.

"That she loved him and wanted to make another go of things."


	14. Chapter 14

It was so late it was early.

It had done her in going into work that day and now the painkillers had worn off, so she was up, having taken more, and wide awake.

Standing in the darkened apartment she reflected on the day, wondering whether her last day at Continental would be quieter, and she could think about getting things together without fuss for a peaceful journey home.

Chandler had been true to his word and had taken her in to work by car in full view of his colleagues where she had received claps on the back and handshakes, hugs and smiles wishing her well – the fuss, as she had called it. She had then gone on to speak to the board and give her testimony about what he could remember about that night, before confirming to her all that Bob Samuels had promised her when he had come to visit.

It had been that afternoon which had tired her out as she discussed the site at Westbury with Jeff Stevens and had gone to sleep in Chandler's car on the way home, eschewing dinner and going, very early, to bed.

So, once the painkillers had begun to work Jo instantly felt hungry, and had a look around in the kitchen for something she could eat which would not disturb Chandler.

Once she had found some bread and made toast, she sat on the sofa and clicked on her phone, realising she had a text from Joey. Replying that she was well, Joanna was astonished when her phone – on silent – flashed up with a call from Joey's phone. What was he doing up at a quarter to four on a weekday morning? From what Chandler had told her of Joey's routine he only recognised one quarter to four and that was the one in the afternoon.

"Is it OK to talk now? I must be disturbing you at this time of day."

"I've just got in from a long "after show party" if you know what I mean! What's up?" Joanna swallowed, but pressed on, sinking further down into the sofa.

"We had our talk – Chandler told me everything about his past, and splitting up from his wife and moving away for work."

"Everything?"

"Is it true?"

"Is what true?"

"About Chandler?" Joanna asked, her breath in her throat, a feeling of shame that she was talking to Chandler's best friend about him, but also feeling sorry for him, and how his life had gone. She knew that he probably didn't intend for this to happen – like she, Jo, had never intended for her husband to be critically ill for five years. You saw things, when things went wrong in your life, with a different perspective, and it changed you, and the store you set in things.

"Look, Jo, you're going to have to give me more of a clue here," elaborated Joey, trying not to yawn too loudly. "It's 4am!"

"Is it true about Chandler being a borderline alcoholic? And that's one of the reasons he and his wife split up?"

"Yes,"it's true," came Joey's answer. "He says he can take one drink but, you know, I'm not so sure."

"But he was acting strange before then, with me, Joey. I don't think it was anything I did, but..I don't know."

"He might be in love with you," suggested Joey. Jo laughed loudly into the telephone for a second.

"What? No! We're friends, Joey, nothing more.

"But you're sharing an apartment. Plus, the kiss he gave you, at New Year."

"I pay rent, Joey. Haven't you shared your apartment with someone of the opposite sex and been friends with that woman, and not as a date or a relationship?"

"No."

Oh, thought Joanna. That made sense. It was no wonder Joey thought the way he did.

"But you're sharing an apartment. You're telling me you haven't slept together?"

"Joey, no!" exclaimed Joanna, laughing aloud again. "I'm married and, of course, there's the matter of Chandler still being in love with Monica."

The phone went silent for a moment. Joanna was about to ask if he was still there, when Joey asked, "Wait, what? Chandler's in love with Monica?"

"Well, when we had our talk, that's the thing, Joey," Joanna replied, "When Chandler came back to see Jack's play, Monica spent a long time telling us how great her and Richard's wedding would be - "

"But it turns out she was lying – her and Richard have split up...oh...oh!" Joey sounded agitated.

"Are you OK?"

"It's something Jack told me – his mom told me she was still in love with Chandler."

"Well, that's great," said Jo, feeling a heaviness in her chest for a moment. "It's great they feel the same. I don't know why I've just told you, though.", added Jo.

"Me either," said Joey, his tone more guarded now.

I do, said Jo, nodding to no-one in the darkness. "You and I think the same? There are two people?There who are meant to be together but are too scared to say it?"

"Ye-huh!" exclaimed Joey, "yeah, that's it, Joanna. SO how are we gonna get 'em to see this?"

"I don't know; I go home in two days - I don;t see what help I could be."

"Leave it with me," said Joey, his tiredness seeming to have ebbed. "I may have to have a talk to my best friend."

88888888

It had been a quiet last day – thank goodness. Joanna had spent it filling in some detail about the Bakken geology with Jeff Stevens, promising she could be contacted if necessary, about some of the details if needed. She had decided to catch the bus back to the apartment complex at Newtown that evening – Chandler had had to stay on for a couple of hours, he'd explained and, while she was more than grateful for the lift, she knew three-quarters of an hour quiet time on the bus would put her thoughts in order.

She was leaving. Such a strange feeling, for she had hated coming, and hated the first nearly three months there, wishing her time away until she could go home.

As she put her key into the apartment door, wondering where she should start in her packing Jo's phone flashed and she spent the next hour speaking to her sister on the phone. HR Caudrilla had called to her house, apparently, and Frances had given the HR department her mobile number so they could confirm what had been left in the message for her, that she would be expected on site a week on Monday and could she complete the admin paperwork that they were emailing and bring it with her.

Promotion to project manager, thought Jo, once she had disconnected the call after speaking to James and Tim. How lucky could she be? But she was glad to be going home – at least she would be with the boys and they would have at least one of their parents: Timothy, had been upset at school a few times and Frances had had to go in to discuss it. She spoke to him and told him that by the weekend she would be there with him, and it would be like it was in the summer.

"But not sunny, mummy," he'd replied, in his little, literal-minded way of all children his age. 

No, she'd replied, her heart felt light - they would be altogether.

Almost.

St. Katharine's had said there had been no change for Mark, and she should come to see the specialist at her earliest convenience. She would be there to weather it, when the time came, Jo had thought to herself, and she would have family around her, and money to keep them. Her family situation put all that was here into perspective.

But she would be sad to leave Continental. She had enjoyed the challenge of the job. She would miss her department. She would miss not knowing what side of the road anything was in and nearly getting run over.

She would miss feeling rich with lots and lots of dollar notes in her purse, when really there was about thirty, which amounted to just over twenty quid.

She would miss the friends she had made.

She would miss Chandler.

All these thoughts passed through her mind she ran a hot, soothing bath, got into it and closed her eyes. Would Joey have spoken to him yet? It would be something, at least, if two people who loved each other as Chandler and Monica so evidently did, could at least not find a way of working things out.

It was when she was nearly dry, having spent another hour of her packing time not actually packing when she heard Chandler on the phone. Wrapping herself up in her towel, she peered out of the door and heard him congratulating his son on something, and then asking not to be put on to another person, who happened to be, by the sound of it, his ex-wife, a situation to which he had obviously relented and was talking to her quickly, soothing words, ones of comfort. Jo smiled – Jack Bing was not the only one who could make personal phone calls, and she was glad that she had spoken to Joey the night before.

Chandler's conversation ended and he noticed she was making her way, very well towel-wrapped to her room.

"Just give me a second," said Jo, as he began to talk to her and, fifteen minutes later, they were sitting on the sofa with Chandler telling her that Joey, Jack and Monica were congratulating him.

"Congratulating you?"

"Well, you know that I stopped behind tonight? I had a meeting with Harry Franks, my line manager, and he told me that there was an opportunity in New York, to update and reconfigure Continental's drill program."

"In New York?" Jo racked her brain to think of where on that crowded island of Manhattan that Continental had tucked away their fracking plant.

"It's Wayne County," Chandler clarified. "I meant New York state, not the city. Easy rookie mistake for a foreigner," he added, leaning over and grinning, before adding, more seriously, "I'll be near my family, near Jack and Joey. I'll be on your domestic flight to New York tomorrow."

"Oh. Oh? That's great, Chandler," said Joanna, feeling the sinking feeling in her stomach that had been there before. She was leaving, and had come to terms with the fact that he had offered to drive her to the airport. She had rehearsed in her mind her saying goodbye and thanking him, in order to save her from embarrassing herself by crying, or making an excuse to run off to preserve her feelings.

"Chandler, I know it's none of my business," Joanna said, not knowing herself quite why she had brought it up. "That night, the explosion at Continental...you'd been, well, drinking...a lot..."

"I told you about that."

"But, what caused it? I understand you had a problem before – you and your wife split up because of it. But, why that night?"

She waited for him to tell her it was none of her business – he would be right: it was none of her business. But he smiled, and patted her shoulder, biting his lip.

"I had had some news," he replied. "And in some ways I wish I'd never gone over to see Jack in he play, or I may never have found out." He folded his arms in front of him, before getting to his feet. When Jo thought that that was the end of the conversation, she was astonished to find out that not only was it not, but:

"Monica and I got on, so well. It was like the old times. We were married for ten years, and have been divorced for almost the same time. But, even though we've been apart, and divorced, it still feels like I'm married to her – we have the children, we have our friends, and similar interests. And, when at Christmas I found out she was marrying Richard, who she used to date, I, well, passed these feelings on from her, to you. I felt, oh, this sounds so stupid, Joanna," he added, his tone of voice changing, "so I'm going to stop there."

"She isn't marrying Richard any more."

"Oh?"

"I spoke to Joey the other night. She isn't marrying this Richard."

"Oh. Right." Chandler's tone was flat, and he had turned away from Joanna as Jo's mind fought to prevent her re-running the sentences he had just said through her mind again in case she found out that she had heard what she thought she'd heard.

"I still love her, Jo," said Chandler, sitting back down next to her. "I always have."

"Then you should go and tell her, Chandler. "Tell her you still love her, tell her you made a mistake."

"Yeah, right," he said, bending over looking at the floor.

"Yes," insisted Joanna. "Look, what have you got to lose? She loves you, you love her. You could have what I have: nothing. My husband...being kept alive by machines until one day he may wake up, but almost certainly he won't. You could go to her today, you could call her, and tell her. Because one day you might wish you had've done. And, well, you're not nice when you're mean..."

"I was trying to deny our friendship, Jo, yours and mine, which was wrong, and stupid of me. And you _are _a friend, even if you are a filthy foreigner." They laughed, then Chandler's face fell to seriousness.

"I was together with Monica for so long, and I love her so much – what did she deserve? Not that I got addicted to painkillers and alcohol, no. Not that I nearly killed two people while drink driving. I had to go to court; I got a DUI. That's why she moved out. I let her down."

"Well, let her up again," said Jo, smiling. "You can't change the past any more than I can, but you can do something I can't – you can change the future. Or, at least find out."

Because, she loves you too, said Jo to herself, as Chandler opened his arms and offered her a hug. It felt nice: his arms were warm and comfortable.

"Thank you for being my friend," said Jo. "I don't think I would have survived without you."

Chandler had dismissed the idea, but she could see something in his eyes, something she had not seen before, like a light, like someone with something to live for.

"I wouldn't have gone to the city for Christmas," Chandler conceded. "I would probably have gone to London with Joey and not seen Monica. Thank you for needing to go home so that I could help you.

"And, now I need to pack," said Jo, reluctantly extricating herself from his arms.

"Jo?" he asked, just as she got to her room. "Just to say, I am sorry about your husband." Jo nodded.

"Oh, and Jo?" he added, as she was about to push down the door handle. "What did you mean, "She loves you."?"

"I think you and Joey need a talk," replied Joanna, before slipping into her room to begin what she should have begun over two hours ago, before Chandler asked her any more questions.

88888888

Packing had not taken Jo as long as she'd expected. Chandler had made dinner and called though to say that he'd keep some in the microwave for her. When she had finally come back out to eat it, Chandler was in his room and she scrolled through her phone for the news as she ate, feeling sure she could hear him talking on his mobile.

At about nine thirty, as Jo was about to do the washing up Chandler came back out of his room and asked her whether she had got plans for the rest of the evening.

"I have a lot of things I need to get done before I go back home," she replied. "Here's where I benefit from not having a lot of things, though – it's not taken me long to pack."

"I was wondering if you would like a drink at the bar? Can your packing wait?"

"Oh, well - " she began, trying to think of a way out of it.

"Come on, just one drink. I promise not to binge on Coke, as long as you promise not to either – we don't want hangovers in the morning."

They went to the bar.

Joanna had been right about him being on the phone – he had talked to Joey about "things" (Jo decided to avoid asking him to elaborate) and Jack had had further success on stage as he was now learning the role of James Sirius Potter, Albus Severus's older brother in "The Cursed Child".

"That's great," said Joanna, sipping her Coke. She was pleased for her friend's successful family – it was good to hear that Jack Bing was doing well, despite his coldness towards her, and his calling up after her husband on the number he had taken from her purse.

"And Monica has decided not to marry Richard." confirmed Chandler.

"That's great, that's great," replied Joanna. She tried to sound cheerful, but the tone in her voice showed through her words and she looked down.

"Come on, early night for you," he said, draining his glass.

"Chandler, can I just say..."

"No, don't. I'm going to miss having you around too, Joanna. You feel like the sister I never had. Jo nodded. Yes, that summed it up for her, too.

"Okay," he said, smiling. "Would you like one more? Look, I know, I know we're pushing the boat out, and all..."

Jo laughed, and replied, in her best Mancunian, "Go on then. You really know how to spoil a girl, Mister Bing."

And after that, an early night was had by all.

88888888

It was hard to recall why it was that she was in Chandler Bing's bed.

Perhaps it would be prudent to add at this point now, rather than later, that Joanna Lucas was, in fact, fully clothed and Chandler was snoring next to her, also fully clothed. S

She stared at the ceiling as the sun fought to push its weak rays through the window, creating dark smudges of shadows on the wall by the door.

It had been late when they had, in fact, decided to go to bed. They had stopped up, talking, as they had done the night when Jo had come back to his apartment before, and talked about, well, things. Things like whether they had thought the future would turn out like this, and why it was, when you were younger, you had ideas about how things would go, but no clue that there might be possibilities other than "things going well" to have to deal with. Perhaps there should be lessons in school, Chandler had suggested, although it still wouldn't have been as depressing a lesson as double math.

The conversation had then meandered, river-like, through that well-trodden topic of words that were different in British English and American English, past the port of "Well, in Canada, they say..." and to the city of "pants/trousers/knickers", which was always hilarious. It was that sort of late-night chat.

And then, she had gone to bed, running through a list of things she needed to make sure she either did or had in the morning before they left, thanking whoever it was who had allowed them a few more hours together on the flight to New York.: she didn't think that she was ready to say goodbye to him properly yet - Chandler was the friend from work whom she would miss the most.

She looked across at Chandler. What had happened when she had gone to her bed? It had been very early in the morning and had cuddled up in the sheets and blankets, thinking about her husband, and had felt tears prick under her eyelids. Everything felt like an effort, an effort at work, an effort to make sure everyone at home was fine. An effort to make sure proto-erotic feelings about Chandler Bing did not make an appearance.

Oh, if it had been that simple – if things weren't complicated, for both of them. She liked him; she was comfortable in his company. She wasn't the reason he was compelled to drink; she wasn't the woman who he had nerve-shattering feelings for, the one person he had let down above all others. Jo knew how he felt, for it was as she felt towards Mark.

And then, with the enormity of the changes that had happened to her in the last four months, Jo begun to cry: hard, body-racking sobs which passed through her like waves.

It was only when she had seen Chandler by the door, looking at her, that she stopped, turning away from him, at the shame of showing her emotions. He came in, sitting carefully on the end of the campbed and waited until she turned back to him. He had opened his arms wide and she had put her head on his chest, her body still stuttering in its sobs, now ebbing, and he stroked her back tenderly before taking her hand and leading her to his own room.

And, in the darkness, as he sat down on his bed with her, nothing happened. Nothing, apart from a long, deep embrace which had soothed Chandler as much as it had soothed Joanna, who was asleep within minutes.

Chandler pulled his sheets and blanked over her, allowing her to turn over away from him, patting her shoulder, before lying back down himself, Chandler pictured the image of the woman he loved, and knew what he had to do.

And now, it was the morning. She was going today Yesterday had been her last day at Conrtnental, her last day working in the Bakken for a fracking company whose yield had, with her help, increased by millions of tonnes. She had made a difference here. And, while the circumstances at home, in Lancashire, would be different to here, Jo was determined to make a difference there, too. Clean fossil fuel, or at least, cleaner than the others: it would tide the country over as a realistic option for the country in these uncertain political times.

Jo had sat up, disturbing those carefully-placed sheets and blankets, remembering their hug and...as she began to panic because that was all she could remember, Chandler opened his eyes.

"I thought you might want a friend," Chandler said, as he sat up, too. Jo nodded, hastily, getting up quickly, and pulling her cardigan around her before relaxing, as the slower part of her mind caught up with her cerebellum and filled in the missing details.

"So," said Chandler, getting out of bed, too. "Want breakfast here, or at Sloulin Airport?"

88888888

"How does this sound?"

"The "Pet Shop Boys"? Now, that's 80s I can enjoy," said Joanna, smiling as they got to the highway that led north-west to Sloulin, having packed the car, Chandler handing over their keys to the apartment offices. His belongings would be taken out to their Wayne County site for him, and the car, a rental, collected from the airport.

Joanna had been looking forward to the flight back to JFK since Chandler had told her that he was going to be with her but, as the flight progressed, a lump in her throat and a knot in her stomach grew as time began to accelerate.

And, all at once, in what seemed like the blink of an eye, they were standing at the baggage-collect point, waiting for their things.

"So, this is it, then," she said, when they'd got their belongings and headed out into the foyer. She scanned the boards overhead for the flight to London and the gate to which she must go. First class here she came. And in a few minutes, she would go. And in a few minutes she would be saying goodbye to Chandler.

"Gate 36," he said, pointing upwards. Jo nodded and turned, knowing that it was the coward's way out. But she felt a lightness in her hand.

"I'll get that," he said, near her ear. Jo stopped, but didn't turn round.

"Look, Chandler, it'll be easier if I can just go. Thank you for being my friend."

"What?"

"I said it would be easier if I just went. Easier for me," she admitted.

"Joanna," he said, and she felt her chest tighten, as if her heart was collapsing in on itself. And looked down.

"First class tickets?" she said, turning round. Chandler was grinning, and nodded.

"On the company," he clarified, still smiling.

"I thought you had a job in Wayne County?"

"I do," Chandler agreed. "I have a drill program job to do first - six months abroad."

"Oh? Where?"

"Some place called South Port, Lancashire."

There was nothing that could have stopped Jo Lucas from throwing her arms around Chandler Bing at that moment. But then she realised what she had done and backed away, a little embarrassed. But Chandler was laughing.

"I don't see what's funny," she said, reinstating the boundary of propriety between them.

"Continental's bought out Caudrilla. You haven't left after all."

"But...what about...Wayne County? Your family...?"

"Yes," agreed Chandler, "we're giving it another try Monica and I."

"That's great! I'm really pleased for you, Chandler."

"She's going to be CEO of her own company. Monica's. New York, New York."

Jo smiled. The most beautiful city in the world.

"And the first thing I agreed to do for her was not to leave our son alone in Manchester - that's not too far away, is it, from Southport?" Jo shook her head. "You know I told him he got the part of James Sirius Potter? I know Joey will be with him for a while but, this is a big break for him."

"Joey's going to be there too? In Manchester?" Suddenly, returning home to her family was not going to make her as bereft of friends as she'd imagined. "Aoah may Ghaad!" she added happily, in the broadest New York accent that sounded uncannily like a voice Chandler remembered distinctly on nights when nightmares were in the offing.

"Wow! Where did you learn _that_?!" Jo pointed to the flight attendant's lounge, where a slim, attractive woman, large curly hair waved to Chandler Bing and smiled widely.

"Her name's Janice," said Jo, smiling back. "I was talking to her when we were in the ladies." From the window Janice waved ferociously at them. "She's attending on our flight, isn't that nice? She seems like a lovely person."

"Yeah," said Chandler, trying not to grimace. Ten hours on a flight with Janice attending.

"So Southport, what's that like?"

"Imagine Marshall but with more sea." He nodded as their flight was called.

"Oh, by the way, Pink Floyd?" He took her hand luggage as he walked down the connecting tunnel to their aeroplane.

"Yes?"

"I never got to say thank you, English. They're my second favourite band."

"You're welcome. And your first?"

"The Beatles." Joanna laughed loudly.

"What?" he asked, indignantly. "You hate the sixties, too?" Jo shook her head, and smiled.

"You know, Southport is about ten miles away from Liverpool." She watched his eyes light up as she was shown to her seat, not by Janice, Chandler noticed, with relief.

Chandler gestured for Jo to sit down in the window seat before he took the one next to it, smiling back at her. "Really?!" he exclaimed, folding his hand over hers. "Could this work trip _get_ any better?"

"Thank you, I like being your friend, Chandler Bing. I'm pleased for you about Monica."

"Lets see what the future brings. She said she loves me, and she said she'd wait."

"That's wonderful, said Jo, touching his hand for a moment and squeezing it gently between hers. "You know, when you kissed me, the New Years' kiss? I made a wish, that we would both find happiness. Yours has come true."

He kissed the top of her head. "Never say never. You didn't give up when you were poring over those maps; maybe he won't either. Here," he kissed her again, this time on the lips very gently for a second. "Happy Chinese New Year, Joanna, my friend. Here's to your happiness."

Jo said nothing, but looked past Chandler as Janice leaned over them, her face beaming like the sun on a summer's day.

"Aoah may Ghaad!"


End file.
